


Ties That Bind

by iTony



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Action, Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Ben Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Childhood, Childhood Trauma, Comic Book Violence, Crime Fighting, Diego Hargreeves is Bad at Feelings, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Feels, Gaslighting, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Siblings, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Superheroes, Superpowers, Team as Family, Umbrella Academy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2019-11-12 13:20:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18011669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iTony/pseuds/iTony
Summary: In 2006, the Umbrella Academy was a power house of vigilante justice, revered by the masses and ready to protect the world.  Until it, like one of its members, faced a tragic and unexpected end.This is the story of how the Umbrella Academy operated: the shared joys and sorrows experienced by its extraordinary teenage superheroes, who unwittingly lived their lives sheltered within its walls and stunted by its structure.This is also the story of how the Umbrella Academy dissolved, and with it, Klaus's life.





	1. The Academy

**Author's Note:**

> Your feedback is appreciated!

_3:18 am._

He woke to the familiar banging of Ryan dragging himself up the stairs.

Klaus didn't know if Ryan was his name.  Ryan couldn't speak, because his jaw had been torn off.  He'd named Ryan after a WWII movie that featured men getting their limbs blown off; Ryan was also missing an arm and both of his legs.  Klaus prayed to God (or Satan, or whoever would listen) that that was what had happened to Ryan. The alternative was that his condition was not a result of war, but murder.

The Academy was located in central Argyle and Klaus didn't get many visits from veterans, except when they drove past the veterans' cemetery.  When they did, hoards of men in uniforms looked up, some following the car, pulled to it instinctively. Klaus always slouched down and turned up his headphones rather than engage with them.

The fact that Ryan showed up every other week implied that this was Ryan's territory.  That he'd been killed or laid to rest somewhere close by. That someone had torn away his jaw and his limbs and that his death had been slow and brutal.

But Klaus didn't know for sure because he tried to stay far away from Ryan.  Ryan was slow, at least, so he could be avoided.

Klaus shoved his blankets off and swung out of bed.  Ryan knew which bedroom was his; the first step for getting away from him was to high-tail it out of there.

He stepped out into the hall; the tile floor was cold on his feet.  He scurried down the hall toward Luther's bedroom, giving a glance toward the stairs.  (Stairs slowed Ryan down considerably.)

"Luther!  ...Luther!" he hissed, jiggling the knob.  The door was either locked or blocked. He gave it a kick with his bare foot.

"...go to sleep, Klaus."

"Luther, he's back!"

"This is the third night in a row.  I'm tired, Klaus."

"Oh, and you think I'm not?" demanded Klaus, voice rising to a high pitch.

Klaus kicked the door a couple more times for good measure, taking a mean-spirited pleasure in ruining Luther's sleep, then turned and ran, slipping slightly, back down the hall.  All their bedrooms were the the second floor; he could probably wake up everyone and still have time to run up to the third story before Ryan made it to the landing. Was it worth it?  Diego had threatened to kill him if he woke him up again. Could he fake a cold and get some cold medicine? That worked rarely nowadays; his dear old dad had gotten wise to his methods and had locked up the medicine cabinet.  The household went from going through four packs of Benadryl a month to less than one. NyQuil consumption was down from 64 fluid ounces a month to about three. Klaus continued to insist he had "allergies" and went so far as to huff at dust (finding dust was hard work; Mom was a neat freak), or snort pepper and chop up onions before bed in the hope to getting his hands on some pills or cough syrup.  The pepper and onions had disappeared from the crisper and were currently locked up as well in an undisclosed location, which had cured Klaus of his claim to allergies.

Getting any medicine at this hour would be almost impossible.

He ran past Diego's room and Five's silent bedroom to Ben's.  "Ben!" He pounded on the door. "Ben, wake up, he's back! Lemme in!  God, please, lemme in!" Thankfully, Ben had not barred his door; Klaus shoved it open, ran in, and shook Ben awake, thoroughly unconcerned with his comfort.  "C'mon. We gotta go upstairs. He's back again," pleaded Klaus. "...can you ask Mom for some allergy medicine or something? Please? I swear I won't bug you for a week if you get me a few pills.  Cross my heart and hope to-- oh, God, he's nearly up the stairs, c'mon, get up!" He ran across the room and flicked on the light.

Ben flinched when the light came on, yanking his sheets protectively over his eyes; he was awake in an instant, and he gasped like a drowning man coming up for water, his body jack-knifing.  Klaus froze; Ben grabbed his stomach with an audible groan of pain.

“God, Klaus!” he moaned.

“Sorry!  Sorry!”

Ben rolled onto his side, curling protectively around his midsection, breathing heavily through his mouth.  Klaus watched him, eyes darting between the bed and the door. Asking to choose between wakening Ben’s demons and facing a ghost was not a position he could claim to be happy about.  (Down the hall, he heard someone moan his name, and he shuddered.)

“Ben, please,” he whispered.

“Okay, okay.”  Ben threw back the covers, still hunching over his stomach.  His hair was standing up on one end. Like Klaus, he was dressed in the Academy’s standard pajamas, a pale blue outfit with the crest over the breast pocket. 

He crossed the room; Klaus immediately squeezed his eyes shut and put a hand on Ben’s shoulder.  “Just take me upstairs. Please.”

“I can’t keep doing this, Klaus,” whispered Ben, opened his door and looking up and down the hallway.  It was empty and silent. They left together, toward the stairs; Ben led Klaus up, listening to him whispering to himself.

“Shut up.  Shut up. Leave me alone.”

“Hey.  Focus on my voice,” whispered Ben as they got to the third story landing.  “You know they can’t hurt you. They’re just ghosts.”

“Oh, just ghosts?  Wonderful! Here I thought I was over-reacting to being haunted by a bunch of mutilated corpses!” replied Klaus shrilly, one hand still clamped over his eyes.

“Come on, Klaus.  It’s okay. We’re upstairs now.  That’ll slow him down.”

“Keep moving,” demanded Klaus.

“...are we gonna do this all night?”

“Yep.”

“...you can’t outrun your demons, Klaus.”

“...watch me.”

* * *

 

Everyone’s alarms went off in perfect synchronization at six am.  In seven rooms on the second story of the Hargreeves mansion, six teenagers threw back their covers and rose; they had fifteen minutes to brush their teeth, wash their faces, get dressed, and meet in the central room for the morning briefing.  Breakfast was promptly at six-thirty.

Although there was no true order to the morning routine, the seven Hargreeves children tended to fall into a natural order.  Luther was almost always the first into the bathroom, followed by Diego, who was wickedly efficient; Allison took longer to get the snares out of her hair, which sometimes required Ben and Klaus to work side-by-side to rush things along.  Despite the mansion having enough bathrooms for everyone, the hallway with their rooms had only one, and Reginald Hargreeves believed that this was for the best because it forced them to operate in close quarters on a tight schedule: a critical skill.

Ben stumbled into the first-floor sitting room still struggling to straighten his tie; the others were all seated on the couches, their attention on Reginald, who was looking at his pocket watch.

“You’re late, Number Six.”

“Sorry, Dad.”  Ben dropped into a couch between Klaus and Vanya.  He and Klaus had gotten to bed around five; they were sporting identical raccoon eyes.

“Today is Friday, September twenty-ninth.  Tomorrow we will be replacing your music lessons with a portrait sitting.  Number One, your lessons for Monday are canceled, as I have to attend an important meeting; you will attend archery with Number Two in lieu of your usual training.  Number Six, your free time on Sunday is canceled until further notice; you are falling behind in your trigonometry lessons. ...yes, Number Three?” Allison had stuck her hand up.

“Our birthday is on Sunday.”

Reginald’s brow furrowed even further over his monocle.  He seemed to be surprised by this information; morning briefings rarely had anything other than a list of upcoming events, and it was unusual for any of them to speak.  Everyone was looking at Allison hopefully; everyone had been eager to make the same point because Reginald appeared ready to forget it entirely.

“...very well.  I will allot another hour of free time for celebrations on Sunday,” said Reginald.

Ben raised his hand.  “Do I get to--”

“You may be present for birthday festivities.  Not for your usually scheduled free time.”

Ben looked dejected.

“Dismissed.”

Everyone rose in synchronization and filed out toward the kitchen.  Luther whispered a thanks to Allison. Ben shot Klaus a dirty look, but Klaus was yawning and missed it.

The days of the week had a rhythm as tightly as mornings did.  Mornings were communal lessons; mid-afternoon were communal trainings.  Each of them had their own day of the week for individual training in the evening, starting with Luther on Mondays.  After dinner, they were allowed to retire to the den for reflection time. This was not the same as free time; they were not allowed to play but expected to engage in activities that “stimulated the mind.”  To that end, they read, journaled, drew, or playing pre-approved games. (Allison and Diego had been on the same game of chess for a week; Diego accused her of cheating, which she had been; everyone else feigned ignorance, hoping the match would end in an explosive argument, as the previous one four months ago had.  Chess had only recently been re-approved.)

After breakfast they sat in the classroom on the second floor, working out math problems while Reginald paced the rows, hands clasped behind his back, offering criticism.

“Posture, Number Two, posture.  Remember, the public is always looking to you, even when you are not paying attention.  ...that is incorrect, Number Four.”

Klaus had one hand bunched in his hair; he flipped his pencil around and erased his answer, trying to backtrack.  Behind him, Ben yawned.

They had originally been seven.  Five had been gone for four years, but his presence was still felt; his chair stood empty in its usual place beside Ben’s.  The classroom had two rows; Vanya could have been moved up to Five’s seat, but she remained in the back, behind the empty desk.  Allison sat behind Luther and often had to crane around him to see the chalkboard. Reginald was uncompromising on their arrangement; order was critical to success, he said.

Their afternoon lessons included swimming and lockpicking.  Ben lagged behind the rest, letting out small noises of frustration that he couldn’t open his lock; it was clear the lack of sleep was getting to him.  Reginald barked at him to try harder, reducing him nearly to tears; fortunately, Reginald was distracted before it came to that when Luther accidentally crushed his lock completely.  (“It still counts! It’s open!”)

They had a fifteen-minute break between lessons; Ben looked haggard.  Saturdays were his training days; Fridays had an open slot because of Five’s absence.  “This is your fault,” he hissed at Klaus as they toweled off in the communal shower that was attached to the small natatorium in the back of the house.

“My fault?  If this is anyone’s fault, it’s Ryan’s,” retorted Klaus indignantly, rolling his towel into a whip, ready to defend himself against Diego, who had done the same.  Seeing Klaus wouldn’t make a good target, Diego cracked his towel against Luther instead.

“My free time got canceled because of you!”

“...ask Vanya to tutor you, she’s great at math.”

“I could tutor you,” said Vanya hopefully as she pulled off her swimcap.

Ben responded by groaning and clutching his stomach.  “I think I’m going to puke.”

“It’s just trig, Ben, it’s not hard.  Soh-cah-toa,” said Klaus with a shrug.  He cracked his towel against Diego; Diego cracked back.

“You need to stop getting up for him,” advised Allison. 

“Dad says it’s a sign of progress that you’re getting more sensitive,” added Luther.

“Klaus is sensitive,” quipped Diego, landing another crack of his towel on Klaus’s stomach.  Klaus grabbed it and yanked; Diego slipped on the tile floor and fell with an audible crack.

“Are you okay?” asked Ben in alarm.

“Easy for you to say I should just stay in bed.  You’ve never tried to sleep with someone yelling in your ear,” snapped Klaus bitterly.

“We all literally do.  Every night. Because you wake us up,” said Luther as he shrugged on his blazer.

“Maybe you could try rumoring my ghosts away?  Tell them I can’t hear them?” suggested Klaus.

“They don’t listen to us,” said Allison with a shrug.  “Tell them yourself to leave you alone.”

Ben groaned again, clutching his stomach; the others were nearly dressed, but Ben was lagging behind.

“Come on, Ben, you’re okay.  Remember, sensitivity means progress,” Luther encouraged him. 

“Don’t wait up.  We don’t all have to get in trouble if I’m late,” said Ben.  His face was pale, and even though he’d already toweled off, it was shining with moisture. 

* * *

Speaking at the dinner table was forbidden.  They were allowed to speak at breakfast and lunch, which were informal, but dinner was usually tied to a lesson and they were expected to behave elegantly.  Reginald said this was good practice for state dinners and celebratory galas they’d be invited to as heroes. The dinners they had gone to had always been far less stuffy than Reginald had led them to believe, but nonetheless, he persisted in demanding they exercise their etiquette skills at the table.

“May I be excused?” asked Ben halfway through.

“You have not finished your lamb.”

“My stomach really hurts.”

“Good.  Embrace it.  Your powers are growing.”

Ben hunched over his plate, looking pleadingly to the head of the table.  “...please, Dad?”

“Absolutely not.  Your dinner is nutritionally perfectly balanced and you need to finish it.”

Ben picked up his fork listlessly and ate his food with minimal chewing.  He was clearly forcing it down. When they retired to the den after dinner, he curled into the corner of the couch, breathing heavily.

“Can you stop breathing like that?” asked Allison after a half-hour of silence that was only punctuated by the ticking of the grandfather clock.  She was staring at the chess board; Diego was watching her like a hawk, ready to take one of her kinghts.

Ben groaned in reply.

“...c’mere,” offered Klaus.  He was sitting in front of the fireplace, playing with a pack of tarot cards.  Card games were forbidden except on Sunday free time, but for Klaus, an exception had been made.  “I’ll give you a reading.”

Ben got up and walked over; Klaus shuffled a deck loudly and the scattered the cards over the ground.  “Major arcana. Choose one,” he said.

Ben let out a weary sigh; Klaus’s readings had long-since become predictable.  So predictable that Diego had nicknamed him “The Reverse Magician” because that was the card he always, inevitably, chose.

“I always get the tower.”

“This time you won’t, I promise.”

“...did you take it out of the deck?”

“Yeah.”

Ben flipped the card over.  It was the tower. He glared at Klaus.

“...oops.”

Klaus shuffled another deck and made three piles.  “Flip the top one,” he instructed.

Ben flipped the top three cards over.

“Okay, this is great.   I mixed all the suits together but you picked three different one.  So this is physical, mental, and spiritual realm,” said Klaus, spreading his right hand over the cards.  “Reverse seven of tentacles-- I mean, pentacles--”

“Shut up, Klaus.”

“Sorry, sorry.  ...seven of pentacles for the physical realm.  You feel like you’ve stagnated. The wheels are turning but you’re going nowhere.  You feel hopeless, distracted, like you’re working hard without any results--”

“Wow, the cards told you that?” asked Ben sarcastically.

Klaus ignored him.  “Mental. Upright eight of swords.  You’re lost. You’re dependent. I’m getting helplessness.  Poor judgement. ...you’re going to rely on someone else to make a choice for you and it’s going to be bad.”

“Kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy, isn’t it, Klaus?” asked Luther, looking up from his book.

“Shut up.  Spiritual. Five of cups-- oops--”  The third card was stuck to another.  “You turned over two. Five of cups and eight of cups.  I can work with that. Five of cups is loss; eight of cups is surrender.  ...in light of the right of swords, maybe you’re supposed to surrender to someone else’s decision?  ...but then you’ll get a loss. Unless you’re supposed to avoid the loss by surrendering. ...wait…”

“I want my money back,” said Ben.

“Look, this isn’t an exact science, okay?”  Klaus shuffled the cards indignantly. “I’m doing the best I can.”  He tried to cut the deck and dropped it. The cards scattered across the floor, with The Fool and the Devil facing upward and grinning at them.


	2. Birthday

On Saturday Klaus had the bathroom to himself, a rarity.  He followed the rest downstairs to the morning briefing; Saturdays were no different than other weekdays.  (On Sundays they were allowed an extra half-hour to sleep in.) Reginald checked his pocket watch several times; Ben was not present.

After waiting two minutes, he barked at Pogo to go rouse him, then carried on with the meeting as normal.

Ben stumbled in after Reginald had already dismissed them; he looked terrible.

“Not my fault!” whispered Klaus to Luther as they filed out for breakfast.

“Number Six, this behavior is unacceptable,” began Reginald.

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Today is your designated day for special training.”

“I know.  I’m sorry, Dad.”

“I expect you to be particularly prepared on Saturdays.  There is no justification for tardiness.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.  I think I’m really sick.”

“Nonsense!  You have no reason to be sick.  Discomfort cannot stand in the way of progress, Number Six.  Now go join your siblings for breakfast.”

“Thank you, Dad.”  Ben went after the others; their mother, Grace, cooed over him and felt his forehead, but reported that he was not running a fever.

Before their teens, they had all had individual nannies, but as they grew older and more capable, Reginald dismissed the staff. In the end they were left with only one: Grace. By then, her algorithms had grown more complex and her role in the house had expanded greatly; everyone had already been leaning heavily on her, and her role changed from nanny to mother around the age of twelve, when she gave them their names.  They had readily adopted their names, because by that age, they all had a sense of discomfort with being numbered. Nowadays, only Reginald stuck insistently to the numbering system. When she gave them their new names, Grace had also named herself: Mom.

“Don’t worry, sweetie.  I’m sure it’s only growing pains.  Your father is very pleased to see you all developing in your abilities, you know.  We’re both so proud of you,” she said as she set a bowl of fresh fruit in front of Ben.  He poked at it listlessly. On the other side of the table, Allison and Diego took the opportunity to hastily exchange fruit; Diego loathed cantaloupe and Allison loathed grapes, but all of them took the same meals, with the only variable factor being the proportions.

“Thanks, Mom,” said Ben.

“What type of cake would you all like for your birthday tomorrow?” asked Grace as she breezed around the table adjusting napkins and pushing glasses of milk temptingly closer.

“Chocolate,” said Luther immediately.

“Anything but chocolate,” said Diego, probably just to start an argument.

“Red velvet,” said Klaus.

Ben shoved his breakfast away.

* * *

That evening, Ben arrived in the common room for reflection time late.  His hair was wet; apparently, he’d taken a shower. A small dot of blood on the collar of his shirt indicated why.

“Tonight, bug Diego,” he told Klaus; Klaus was letting Allison paint his nails with a glittery red polish.  Beside them, Diego was frowning at the chess board. Allison’s queen was poised to capture a rook that was protecting his king.

“Can do,” said Klaus, giving a little salute with his free hand. 

“You okay, Ben?” asked Luther.

“Just a rough lesson,” said Ben wearily, dropping onto the couch.  “...They’re getting stronger.”

“That just means you’re getting stronger, too.  Because you can control Them,” said Luther optimistically.

“...sorta,” muttered Ben.

“Hey, remember your reading last night?  Maybe the decision you’re supposed to make, the surrendering, maybe it’s to Them!” said Klaus excitedly, waving one hand to dry it while Allison tended to the other.

“Maybe your readings are all total bullshit.  Just because you can see ghosts and have some connection to the spirit realm doesn’t mean you can see into the future,” snapped Diego.

“Um, ghosts totally have knowledge of the future, I think, probably, and Dad says tarot is part of my training, so fuck you,” retorted Klaus.

“Language!” sang Grace as she stepped over Allison’s prone figure to wind up the grandfather clock.

“...maybe, yeah.  It’s hard to rein Them in,” said Ben.

“So don’t.  ...They’re on our side, aren’t they?” said Luther. 

“I don’t want Them to hurt anyone.”

“They only hurt bad guys.”

“Because I direct Them to.  ...if I let go I think They’d just hurt everyone.”

“Naw.  It’s like Klaus’s ghosts.  They’re harmless,” said Luther confidently.

“They are nothing like my ghosts, who are most assuredly causing me grave mental harm,” said Klaus, looking offended.  The power of his statement was lost because he was waving his splayed hands in the air. Allison capped the nail polish, turned to the chess board, and checkmated Diego.

* * *

Even though Sundays were a “rest” day (Vanya had no special training), and sleeping in was allowed, everyone was up early for morning briefing.  Even if Reginald was prone to forgetting birthdays, Grace wasn’t, and they were looking forward to a day of indulgence.

Sure enough, morning briefing started with a gruff, “Happy birthday, children.”  Everyone beamed. “How old are you turning today?”

“Seventeen,” they all chimed in synchronization.

“Very well.  Here is one hundred and seventy dollars,” said Reginald, pulling out a billfold and counting out the money.  He handed it to Luther. Everyone perked up; their usual allowance was five dollars a week.

Luther counted out six twenties, but was left with three odd bills: two twenties and a ten.  He looked to Reginald, who was watching. Everyone tensed. It was a test.

“There’s extra,” he said unnecessarily.

“Split it into fives,” said Diego.

Luther shook his head.  “Still doesn’t come out even.”

“...we could split it _un_ evenly,” suggested Diego.

“Well, who ends up short, then?” asked Luther rhetorically.

Diego and Klaus glanced at Vanya.  Hurt flashed across her face, then vanished.  “I don’t mind,” she said quietly.

“I’ll take the cut,” said Luther quickly.

“That’s not fair,” said Diego.

“Well, it was _your_ idea!”

“It was just an _idea_.  I don’t want anyone to get stiffed.”

“I vote we split it even,” said Allison.

“How much is that?”

Everyone paused; Allison came up with the answer first.  “Twenty-eight dollars and thirty-three cents.”

Luther looked at Reginald.

“I’m not a bank,” he said gruffly.

“Dad won’t split it.”

“Any convenience store would make change,” said Klaus.  “Luther can hold the cash and we’ll go to the corner store tomorrow to split it up.”

“Second,” said Allison.

“You’re third.  I’m second,” said Diego.

Everyone laughed in relief, and Luther pocketed the money.  Breakfast was French toast. That evening, Grace presented them with a large vanilla cake, the only flavor everyone could agree on, and the flavor they had every year that they could remember.  No one’s name was on it; there was not enough room; instead, there were six candles, one for each of them. Grace had knitted them each a scarf with their number on the end in their favorite colors.  The previous year, she had made hats, but they had never been allowed to wear them except on the rare free day, because they clashed terribly with the Academy uniforms.

* * *

On Wednesday at four, the alarms blared.  Luther, Diego, Klaus, and Ben were dutifully learning how to break out of various restraints; Vanya, who was not a member of the Academy, got her evenings free, something the rest of them secretly resented.  Violin music could be heard filtering down from the second level. Wednesdays were Allison’s special training day with Reginald.

The moment the alarms went off, everyone leaped into action; Luther and Diego ran toward the stairs to get into their uniforms on.  Klaus hopped after them, one arm twisted behind his back and zip-tied to his ankle, while Ben tried to help him.

“It has come to my attention that there has been a security breach at city hall, and armed gunmen have made off with a sizeable number of bonds belonging to the city!” barked Reginald, swaggering into the hall while the children scrambled to get ready.  “Your mission is to retrieve the bonds and apprehend those responsible for stealing them! The car will be leaving in five minutes!”

“Dad, help!” cried Klaus, crashing to the floor as he tripped on the top step.

“You see now, Number Four, why being able to remove oneself from binding ties is a critical skill!” shouted Reginald, making no move to come to his aid.  Diego ran into the hall half-dressed with his knives to cut off the zip ties.

“Mom?  My shoes!” hollered Ben from his room.

“Time is of the essence!  Every minute that elapses reflects poorly on the institution as a whole!” barked Reginald.

“I’m ready!” yelled Allison, tearing out of her room and down the stairs.

“Number Three has prepared herself in a suitable amount of time!” announced Reginald.

“I’m ready, too!” yelled Luther, slamming open his door and nearly nailing Ben in the face.

“I need my ouija board!” cried Klaus as he staggered from his room putting on his domino mask.

“Got it!” reported Ben, waving the board at Klaus.

“Does anyone have a hair tie?” called Allison from the ground floor.

“Why would any of us have that?” yelled Diego over the railing.

The violin music from Vanya’s room paused, then resumed.

“Thirty seconds!” yelled Reginald.

“Two, can you grab my comb?” yelled Luther from downstairs.

“I cuh-- I cuh-- cuh--”  Diego let out a frustrated yell.

“Six, grab One’s comb!” yelled Klaus, who was desperately trying to tie his shoes.  Ben raced past with Klaus’s board under one arm, his other hand holding Luther’s comb.

“Ten seconds!”

Klaus, Diego, and Ben tripped over each other as they descended; Ben fell, and Klaus managed to grab him.  The board went flying; Diego caught it.

All three hit the landing, gasping for breath.  Reginald walked down the stairs, checking his pocket watch.  “...time,” he said. “That was a simulation. You all passed.  Two, Four, Six, your performance bordered on suitable. One, Three, your response time was sufficient.”

Diego wheezed, grabbing Ben’s shoulder for support and doubling over.

“Three.  In the future, have a hair tie at the ready,” said Reginald.

“Yes, Dad.”

“Four, your failure to be responsible for your own necessary instruments is a disappointment.  In the future, have your tools at the ready. Preparedness is among the most crucial skill I expect from you.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“Two, stop that noise.  Your ability to hold your breath should preclude wheezing, and signs of distress are signs of weakness.  I expect more from you.”

“Sorry, Dad.”  Diego straightened.

Reginald checked his pocket watch again.  “You are all dismissed. This drill was merely adequate.  I hope you all strive for improvement in the coming weeks.”  He turned and strode back toward the private classrooms; Allison removed her domino mask and followed him, casting a look toward the others that communicated the words they all felt and could not give voice to.

* * *

The inevitable adrenaline crash following the drill put a damper on the evening.  Klaus holed up in a corner armchair, knitting furiously, trying to ignore the woman in the room who kept moaning his name over and over.  Their chess game over, Diego and Allison reset the board and began a new one, but it was clear neither was vested in it.

Fully half of the Academy’s alarms were merely drills; Reginald had no qualms about waking them in the middle of the night, on weekends, during personal trainings, or having back-to-back drills just to keep them on their toes.  Drills were, in their own way, as stressful as missions, and the stress had been compounded by the hanging of their latest portrait. It had been finished on Saturday, when they had all stood stiffly for hours, hyper-aware of each other’s breathing, muscles tense, trying not to jump whenever Reginald barked at one of them to straighten up or stop fidgeting.

They had a portrait done every year around their birthday and it had dawned on them, one by one, that Reginald could not have forgotten their birthday if he had commissioned the portrait.  He had simply planned not to address it. It was a sobering realization, and all of them glared at the painting when they passed it in the hallway to and from their daily activities.

“You’re not gonna wake us up, are you?” asked Diego as he slid a bishop toward one of Allison’s pawns.

Klaus’s hands tangled into the yarn.  “I’ve had a rough week.”

“Every week you’re having a rough week.  I’m tired.”

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“Not you.  Her.” He pointed to a stuffed boar’s head that was hung on the wall.  Allison rolled her eyes. They had all long-since learned not to trust him; it was anyone's guess if he was lying at any given time about what he was seeing or hearing. 

That night, there was a telltale scraping sound as Luther dragged his dresser in front of the door.  Wednesday and Thursday nights were Klaus’s worst; Wednesday was the day before his special training and Thursday was the day afterward, when he was especially sensitive.

Klaus scoffed.  “Asshole.” He retreated to his own bedroom and laid with his pillow over his head, but it didn’t matter.  The screams were internal; the ghosts themselves were channeled through him. At midnight he got up and banged on Allison’s door.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” he whined.

She groaned.  “Fine.”

Klaus slipped into her bed, and she woke periodically during the night to listen to him whispering to his ghosts.


	3. The Monorail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow what a great team I bet nothing bad is going to happen. :)

Klaus brought his ouija board to the front room on Thursday at four o’ clock; Reginald gave a stiff nod of approval that he’d come prepared.  “Today we will be taking a trip to the hospital.”

The color drained from Klaus’s face.  He hated the hospital; at any given time, a dozen DNRs were wandering around.  He had bothered Grace for Claritin earlier in the day, hoping to dampen his senses, but it hadn’t worked.  He had brought the ouija board with the hope that today would not involve a field trip. Klaus was dragged at least once or twice a week to sites that would have ghosts, and Reginald would demand he talk to them.  Klaus often ended up in tears, something Reginald had no patience for and scolded him sternly for, saying that he needed to learn to control his emotions if he ever hoped to control the ghosts. It was infuriating to be told he was supposed to control them; ghosts never listened.  They were selfish things, obsessed with their own deaths, and most were so grateful to have someone to talk to that they didn’t care how much distress it caused Klaus.

“Master Reginald?” called Pogo from the front room.  “A call for you.”

Reginald turned and stalked out of the room to take the call; a moment later the alarms were blaring and Reginald was charging out into the main hall with a purpose in his stride, shouting at them that they were needed for a mission.  Klaus turned and ran toward the stairs, unable to conceal his grin at getting out of training.

“The Academy has been called upon.  The city light rail is currently out of control and needs to be stopped; an estimated two hundred citizens’ lives are at stake.  The car leaves in three minutes!” shouted Reginald from the main hall. Upstairs, Allison elbowed Diego out of the way and emerged from her room with two scrunchies around her wrist.  Diego threw his shoes over the railing and slid down the bannister. When they were given less than five minutes to prepare, most of them flew out of the house in various states of undress, finishing in the car.

“SIX?” yelled Luther.

“Ready!” yelled Ben, running out of his room with his shoe still untied and his tie in his hand.

The five of them grouped in the main hall, Klaus hugging his ouija board to his chest, Allison trying to tie back her hair, which had frizzed up thanks to a recent rain.

“Is everyone accounted for?” shouted Reginald.

“Yes, sir!” shouted back Luther.

“Very well!  Let’s go!” This was not a drill, then.  The frantic energy of an upcoming mission crawled beneath everyone’s skin; in the car, they all fidgeted, pressed into the back of the car, forearms touching, knees bouncing impatiently, adjusting domino masks impatiently.

“Number Six, you’re with me; we’re going to try to stop the train manually.  Three, Four, you two go to the central control room at the station and try to figure out what happened.  Two, stand by the perimeter to prevent interference; if things get hairy and we need to evacuate, you join me and Six.”

“How come I have to do perimeter?  I did perimeter last time!”

“Number Six is going to be more capable of stopping a train.”

“...They don’t really like doing anything that doesn’t involve tearing things apart,” said Ben quietly.

“They can tear up the tracks,” said Luther.

“I expect you to minimize collateral damage!” said Reginald from the front seat.

“I’ll do perimeter,” insisted Six.

“No.  You’re with me.  Two’s got the perimeter.”

“I _always_ get stuck with perimeter,” grumbled Diego, crossing his arms.

When they pulled up to the central station, a crowd was waiting, craning expectantly over each other, leaning into the police barricade to get a glimpse.  As the teens piled out of the car, a cheer went up. Allison waved; Luther had already grabbed Ben’s wrist and was running toward the tracks.

“How long do we have?” asked Diego, following them. 

Luther checked his watch.  “Less than ten minutes before the rail car goes head-long into the wall.  Why are you following us?”

“The police already set up a perimeter, so I’m with you.”

“...no, you’re on standby.”

“C’mon, Luther--”

“Go!” snapped Luther.  Diego’s shoulders sagged and he sighed, stopping, watching as Ben struggled to keep up to Luther’s strides.

Allison and Klaus burst into the station; Allison demanded to know where the control room was, and she led Klaus toward it after being directed by a police officer.

Inside, three men were hunkered over a panel of screens, lights, switches, and knobs, their brows furrowed.

“What’s the situation?” asked Allison.

One of them glanced at her, then did a double-take.  “Little girl, I doubt you know more than the engineers,” said one of them condescendingly.

“One of the engineers is likely to be the one who sabotaged the train controls,” she retorted, crossing her arms.

“This is a simple system failure, and we have it under control, thank you.”

“I heard a rumor you could use my help.”

The man considered, then moved aside.  “There’s no evidence of hardware damage.  We think it’s a software or networking problem between the central controls and the terminal,” he informed her.  Behind them, Klaus had kicked off his shoes and settled onto the floor with his board.

“Klaus, can you contact someone who knows how to work these controls?” asked Allison.

“Do you know how many people are on the tracks?  Like, a dozen,” said Klaus, brow knitted in concentration as he stared at the board.  He tapped the fingers of his right hands into his palm, over and over. He took a shaky breath and then set his fingers on the small planchette in the middle of the board.  It slid immediately to 3. “Okay, okay, slow down, slow down,” whispered Klaus hoarsely.

The radio cackled beside them.  “--two young boys have leaped onto the front car and are currently attempting to manually apply the brakes, which experts suggest is functional but not responding to controls--” a reporter was babbling excitedly.

“Turn it off, I can’t hear,” said Klaus, eyes closed.  “...terminal three… there’s something up with terminal three.”

“Well, I could have told you that,” said one of the men.

“Shut up, shut up, one at a time.  ...well, I don’t see how laying down on the tracks would have prevented a divorce, you idiot.  ...how were the surveyors supposed to know that’s where you were buried? ...serves you right for getting drunk and stumbling around the station, doesn’t it?  ...insurance money?” Klaus’s eyes snapped open. The planchette slid over the board. “P...E… M… Pembrooke. ...there’s an investor named Pembrooke?”

The three men at the controls turned to stare.

“Yes, Pembrooke funded the recent expansion of the rail.  So what?” asked one of he men.

“...he lost money, though, didn’t he?  ...and Lucas Steinway knew about it, didn’t he?  Steinway knows all about the insurance policy.  Steinway's death wasn't an accident, either, was it?  He knew you were going to sabotage the train, so you killed him.  And once the train crashes, you're going to collect on the money," said Klaus, staring at the three men over the controls.  They stared back, eyes widening.

One of the men shoved Allison and bolted.

“Hey!” she yelled.

“What the--?” began one of the other men; Allison roundhouse kicked him in the jaw. 

The remaining man held his hands up in surrender.  “I don’t know what he’s talking about! I’m just a terminal technician!”

“Terminal three is where the fault is.  It was on purpose. ...I don’t know if he can fix it,” reported Klaus as he slid the planchette crazily over the board in front of him.  He kept shrugging his shoulder as if trying to get someone to stop touching him, and flinching as if someone were trying to grab his face.

“Can you fix it?” demanded Allison, turning to the third man; the second was doubled over, holding his face; his nose was gushing blood.

“No!  I don’t even know what the fault is!  I didn’t build this system!”

“Mr. Steinway?" asked Klaus, looking at an empty space in the room.  He nodded, hearing someone that no one else could.  "...he’s lying.  He has administrative access,” said Klaus. 

Allison cocked a fist; the man quickly leaned over the control board and began typing furiously.

“Grandma says hi,” added Klaus.

Outside, the crowd on the street was gazing upward hopefully; on the elevated tracks, there was a sudden shower of sparks, and everyone cheered over the squealing of brakes.  But the train was still coming in too quickly.

“Ben!” yelled Luther from the front; he was gripping the side, wind whipping in his hair.  Ben was pressed against the outside of the sliding doors. “Can you get in front and push it back?”

“...are you sure?” yelled Ben, peeking downward at the ground rushing below them.

Luther reached over, scruffed him, and shoved him toward the front of the train.  “Now!” he yelled.

Ben squeezed his eyes shut and ripped open the midsection of his shirt; the skin on his stomach rippled like water, and with a rumbling, unearthly growl, glistening red tentacles, some as wide around as tree trunks, whipped out.

Below them, the crowd of onlookers gasped and shrieked with delight.

The sight was brief; the train flew into the station, the brakes screaming in protest.  The ground went quiet, murmuring, waiting for the sound of a crash.

Inside, the train slid into the platform; ropey tentacles flung out, grabbing for purchase on anything available: pillars, railings, any surface that jutted out.  Sightless, they knocked over newspaper stands and concession stands and trolleys, flinging aside anything that wasn’t secured and then grabbing for something else that was; Ben let out an ear-splitting scream that could be heard over the brakes as the tentacles locked on to what they could, stretching his body out like it was silly putty, threatening to rip him apart as they braced, forcing the train to a stop.

The cars clattered together and one of them jumped off the tracks with a loud crash, but the train had slowed enough, and it stopped, settling with a hiss.

The tentacles coiled and uncoiled.  One of them, lightning-fast, grabbed a rat that was running past on the tracks and wrapped around it, popping it like a balloon in a spray of blood.  It whipped back into Ben’s body, taking the small corpse with it.

Luther jumped onto the platform and walked over to the sliding doors of the first train car, prying them open.  “Is everyone okay?” he yelled.

The passengers all began screaming excitedly and stampeding to get out.

In the central hallway, Allison escorted two of the engineers to the police, with Klaus following, ouija board tucked under one arm and his shoes dangling from the other.

“Wow, what an incredible story!  A disaster narrowly averted by the heroism of the city’s finest team of super-humans, the Umbrella Academy!  ...here’s Spaceboy now, known for his strength, dexterity, and reflexes… it’s as if gravity doesn’t even affect him!  Spaceboy, everyone saw you on top of the train, were you in fear for your life at any point?” yelled a reporter the moment Luther stepped out of the station.

He held up a hand to block out the sun; it was shining brightly.  “Uh, no, no, we had the situation completely under control the whole time, and I’m just glad everyone is safe,” he said.

“Amazing!  And here’s the rest of your team!  ...Horror, what was going through your mind when you first arrived?” asked the reporter, thrusting a microphone at Ben. 

Ben had a clammy, sweaty look; he swallowed a few times, and, graciously, Allison shoved past him to answer the question for him.

Flashbulbs erupted from the crowd outside despite the brightness of the day; Luther, Allison, Ben, and Klaus raised their hands, smiling for the cameras, just as they had been taught.

“Rumor!  Have all parties responsible for sabotaging the train been apprehended at this time?”

“Spaceboy!  Any message for the passengers of the train you just saved?”

“Kraken!  Kraken! ...where were you during all the commotion?”

“I was working the perimeter,” grumbled Diego, as Reginald appeared to escort them back to the car.  They waved to the crowd as they passed, the crowd shouting, cheering, crying, and waving.

The moment they were in the car, Reginald snapped, “Number Four!  Shoes!”

“I think better without them,” muttered Klaus, stuffing his feet back into his shoes.

“I’m gonna puke.  One of Them ate a rat, and I’m gonna puke,” moaned Ben, pressing his forehead against the glass of the window.  Allison reached over to rub his back.

“Number One, Three, Four, Six, I commend your performance,” said Reginald succinctly.

Diego looked sullenly out the window, twirling a knife.

“Can we go through a drive-through on the way home?” asked Klaus hopefully.

“No,” said Reginald, checking his pocket watch.  “Snack time has passed. We will return to evening lessons.”

“But we were on a mission!  I’m hungry!” whined Klaus. “Can’t we just get a snack on the way home?   _Please_?”

Ben keeled over and threw up, putting an end to the discussion about food.


	4. The Dam

The children were unsurprised when, two days after the monorail incident, at morning briefing, Reginald announced they would be having dinner with the mayor on Sunday evening to celebrate their victory on Thursday.  They had been to many such dinners, which were a mixed bag. The change of scenery and the disruption to their usual schedules was fun, but the stuffiness of the events often wasn’t; they were expected to dress in formal wear, be on their best behavior, and speak to adults about adult manners, much of which they agreed was extremely boring.

That evening, they tried on their clothes, the boys in matching suits and Allison in a demure, dark purple evening gown.  Everyone’s still fit, though Diego’s had an unexplained tear in one sleeve, which he gave to Grace to mend.

The next day, at three-thirty sharp, they met in the central hall, neatly groomed, hands out so Reginald could check their fingernails.  (Klaus had been forced to take off his nail polish.)

“Very good,” said Reginald with a tight nod.  “Grace, we shall return later this evening.”

“Of course.  Have a wonderful dinner, my darlings,” said Grace, smiling at them.  She cupped Klaus’s face because he was closest, and kissed the top of Allison’s head as she walked past.  Grace and Pogo never came to dinner with them; Grace had to stay behind to make Vanya her dinner, anyway.

“Number Two, please remember to keep your elbows off the table.  Number Four, no staring. Number Six, mind your napkin; at the last dinner I did not see you place it in your lap,” Reginald lectured them as they drove away from the mansion.  “We will spend no more than fifteen minutes with the press; Number One, be sure that you don’t block your siblings when you pose for pictures. This function is at the mayor’s estate and thus, you are all guests in his home, and I expect you to behave as such.”

They all murmured their acknowledgements.

The car pulled up to the winding entrance to the estate’s wrought iron gate, which opened for them; they drove up to the front of the house, where a small crowd of reporters and photographers were waiting.  The children filed out and gave their approved sound bites, smiling beatifically for the cameras. After fifteen minutes, they apologized for having to leaving, thanked the reporters for their attention, and filed into the mayor’s mansion, where they politely greeted their hosts one by one as Reginald introduced them.

Klaus glanced at the staircase, did a double-take, and went as white as a sheet.

“Klaus,” warned Luther in a low voice.

“Someone died here,” he whispered back.

“Just ignore them.”

“Oh, God, oh God.”

“Klaus, relax.”

“Oh, God.”

“ _Klaus_.”

Luther clamped a hand on his shoulder to keep him from bolting; the mayor was speaking to Reginald and Ben, and no one else had yet noticed the tiny drama that was playing out.

Allison’s attention was in the sitting room off of the main hall.  A young boy smiled and waved to her. She waved back. He must have been the mayor’s son; he looked normal.

The dinner was a fairly small affair compared to others.  The only people present were the mayor, his wife, his son, a woman from the city council, and two men from the railroad safety commission.

“Diego, switch with me,” whispered Allison as she looked over the seating arrangement; Diego was next to the mayor’s son.

“Then we’ll be out of order,” he whispered back.

“There’s no order; look, Klaus is next to Luther.”

“I don’t want to sit next to the council lady.  She’s boring. I sat next to her last time.”

“I heard a rumor you wanted to sit next to her again.”

“...I guess I could give her another chance.”

The children were all seated; Luther hissed “ _Napkin_!” at Klaus, who was staring past the table and quivering in his seat like a deer in the headlights.

“So you guys all go to school at the Academy?  I go to Cottingham Prep,” said the mayor’s son.  “Next year, though, I want to go to Juilliard to study drama.  I haven’t gotten an acceptance letter, yet.”

“...oh?” said Allison with interest.

“Well, I applied late, so maybe that’s why it’s delayed.  Have you applied to any colleges yet?”

Allison frowned.  “...no,” she admitted.

“I guess you guys can get in anywhere, huh?  Do you even need to fill out applications, or does your letter just say, ‘I’m a superhero, let me in?’” he teased.

Allison looked disturbed, but she forced a smile.  “I’m sure they would take our academics into consideration.  Education is important, even for superheroes.”

“Wow.  Even in real life you guys are perfect,” he said, propping up his head.  “What do you want to study?”

Allison smoothed the napkin on her lap thoughtfully.  “...what are _you_ studying?” she said finally.

“I told you, drama.  Hey, is he okay?”

Across the table, Klaus let out an audible whimper.  Luther kicked him under the table; Reginald shot him a withering glare.

“May I please be excused momentarily?” whispered Klaus shakily.

“...of course.  Aren’t you feeling well?” asked the mayor’s wife with concern.

“Yes, fine, thank you, ma’am,” said Klaus, rising.  He all-but ran from the room.

“You know, speaking of trains, Sao Paulo has a magnificent monorail.  I just came back from vacation in Brazil and it was fabulous,” said the city council woman.  “Would you like to see some vacation photos?”

“...okay,” said Diego wearily.

She procured a packet of recently developed photographs from her purse.  “This is the station for the monorail. And here is the inside of the car.  And here’s another angle of the inside of the car. And here’s the view from my seat of the car.”

Diego glared at Allison.

Upstairs, Klaus tore through the medicine cabinet, coming up with a box of Sudafed.  He popped four, splashing his face with water. “Hurry up, hurry up,” he whispered to the pills.

By the time dinner was being served, Klaus had settled back into his seat and was moving, slow and zombie-like, through the motions of dinner, his gaze heavy-lidded.  Fortunately, everyone else was sufficiently engaged enough for his sleepiness not to be noticed; after dinner, they retired to a sitting room, and Allison played the piano for their hosts; Luther did most of the speaking for the group, while Diego attempted to drag himself away from the city council woman, who had discovered a second pack of photos from a recent vacation in Montreal in her purse, and was eager to show off.

At the end of the night, they thanked the mayor, complimented the food, admired the house, shook hands, and graciously accepted compliments, before filing out after Reginald to go home. 

Klaus fell asleep on the ride; when they got back to the house, he couldn’t be roused, and Luther had to carry him inside, where he passed him off to Grace, who undressed him and put him to bed.

* * *

Mid-October, they all came down with a fever.  It hit Ben first and then filtered through the ranks, sending all of them to bed to shiver and sweat while Grace and Pogo, the only two who could not catch a human disease, flitted room to room to change pillow cases and offer glasses of water.  Klaus delighted in his fever; he was unbothered by ghosts and had a legitimate reason to request medication. He spent the five days of bedrest lying in bed blasting Britney while Diego kicked the wall they shared in an attempt to get him to turn it down.

Five days was long enough for everyone’s fever to break.  It was not long enough for everyone to return fully to their usual health, but that did not prevent Reginald from sounding the alarms.  Weak, shaky, pale, and sweaty, they all gathered in the main hall. Reginald frowned his displeasure, looking at his pocket watch.

“Ninety seconds late.  ...if each seconds were a life, then each of you would be personally responsible for eighteen deaths due to your dilly-dallying.”

Diego looked furious; Klaus looked panicked.  The other three managed to hold their poker faces.

“Do you think this is unfair, Number Two?  To ask that you respect the lives of the citizens you are sworn to protect?” demanded Reginald, turning on Diego.

Diego’s jaw tightened and a vein in his head throbbed.  “No, sir,” he grit out.

“Then wipe that sneer off your face!  You’re all dismissed.”

Diego turned and stomped off, presumably to go back to his lessons; they all had thrice-weekly language lessons with Grace, who knew ten languages and was instructing each of them in one.  He waited until he was well out of earshot from Reginald to swear, and even then, he did it in Portuguese, just in case.

* * *

The next time the alarms sounded, it was not a drill.  It was five in the morning and they stumbled from their beds, getting dressed while still half-asleep, their actions rote.

They were all downstairs within a few minutes, bleary-eyed and suppressing yawns.

“Look lively, now!” snapped Reginald as he shooed them out the door.  “Remember, the city looks to you to act as their protectors; laziness does not inspire confidence!  A radical eco-terror group calling themselves The Hexettes have taken over the city’s hydroelectric dam and are threatening to cut power unless their demands are met!”

“How’s the press even going to take pictures of us?  It’s still dark out,” said Allison in a low voice as they piled into the back of Reginald’s car.  On the way to the city power plant, Klaus fell asleep with his head on Ben’s shoulder.

“Okay, guys.  Here’s the plan,” said Luther.  “Klaus will find someone who can run recon for us, and we’ll infiltrate the central operating room.  The element of surprise is critical, because if they know we’re coming, they’ll overload the system and black out the whole city.  ...Klaus?”

“Wait, what?” asked Klaus, startling awake.

“Klaus, we need you to get us a way in.”

“...shit, I left my board at home.”

“Language, Number Four!  A gentleman never swears; it’s undignified!” yelled Reginald.

“Klaus isn’t a gentleman,” muttered Diego.

“Or dignified,” said Luther.  They grinned at each other.

“You shall have to communicate with the dead directly, as you’ve been training to do for some time,” said Reginald calmly, as if he were discussing Klaus’s homework schedule.

Klaus was suddenly very awake.  “Just turn around! ...we’re only a few blocks away, just turn around so we can get my board.  ...Dad? Dad, please. Dad, turn around,” he begged, voice laced with panic.

“Klaus, it’s okay,” said Ben.

“No, please, Dad!  ...Dad!” Reginald ignored his pleas as he steered them westward, eyes fixed on the dark road ahead, lamp posts blinking past as they drove farther and farther from their home.  Allison put a hand on his back, rubbing his soothingly, but Klaus was panicking too hard to register her touch. His fear made everyone uncomfortable, but Luther tried to keep them on track.

“Once we know the best route to take to the control room, avoiding patrols, we’ll apprehend them as quickly as possible.  Ben, you’ll go in first, and me and Allison will follow up to clear up any stragglers.”

“What about me?” asked Diego.

“You’ll take perimeter.”

“What?   _No_ !  I _always_ get perimeter!”

“If any of them slips away, you can stop them with your knife-throwing,” said Luther.

“How about I do the infiltration?  I can swim up under the dam, sneak in, and let you guys in,” said Diego. 

“No.  If you go in without knowing where the Hexettes are positioned, you might accidentally let them know we’re there.  Right now they think the city is going to cooperate with their demands. It’s better to let them keep thinking that.”

“Come on, Luther, this mission actually has water!” whined Diego.  He had the ability to hold his breath for an indeterminate amount of time.  No one knew precisely how long; in training, Reginald had held him face-down in a basin of water for a hundred and forty minutes once, and he had not fallen unconscious.  To date, he had never gotten to use this particular power on any mission. “This could be our chance to unleash The Kraken!”

“We’re not ‘unleashing the Kraken,’” said Luther, making bunny ears with his fingers.  “Stop trying to make that a thing. We’re going to have Klaus give us directions to get to the central control room incognito and then take them quickly, by force.  You do perimeter.”

“But--”

“No buts.”

Diego crossed his arms and slouched; Reginald snapped at him from the front seat to sit up straight.

When they got to the damn, there were swarms of news crews reporting on the situation, spotlights set up in a row where it seemed like everyone was trying to get a good shot of themselves with the dam in the background.  Several helicopters were circling overhead; the city police was already there, various detectives pacing and talking into walkie-talkies.

The children piled out of the car.

“Please, I don’t want to,” whimpered Klaus, nearly crying.  “The drowned ones are always the worst, please, please don’t make me--”

“You have to, Klaus,” said Luther.  “Come on, let’s go down to the water.  ...once you find someone who can tell us how to get in, you can go wait in the car, okay?”

“Is that the Umbrella Academy?” asked one of the reporters, and all of them who had been actively reporting immediately left their positions and ran toward Reginald’s car, their cameramen in tow.

Several police officers hurried to block them.

“Boy, are we glad to see you, Mr. Hargreeves, sir,” said the deputy, tilting his hat.  “I don’t know how much longer our negotiator can keep ‘em from shutting down the power.  They say they want the president of ChemCo arrested or else they’ll knock out the whole grid.  You know how these environmental nutjobs are. Your kids gonna take ‘em in?”

“Yes, they will restore order as soon as possible,” said Reginald stiffly.

“Well, just let us know if they need anything, we’re real grateful to have you here.  ...big fan of the Kraken,” added the deputy, casting a look over at Diego. He saluted.  Diego looked surprised by this tiny act of acknowledgement, and he saluted back after a second of pause.

“Bet _he’d_ want to unleash the Kraken,” he said to Luther, who had grabbed one of Klaus’s upper arms and was hauling him down toward the water.  The city of Argygle had a wide, rather sluggish river with one very narrow pinch point west of the city; most of the city’s electricity came from the dam.  The embankment from the street to the river was short but very, very steep; it had been paved and the steps that led down to the water were enclosed in chain link to prevent trespassers from playing in the water.  From the bottom of the dam to the top, it was fifty-nine feet, and the reservoir below it was filled with roiling water. Living with Klaus, most of the Hargreeves intuitively knew where there were ghosts, and the bottom of the dam on the West Argyle River seemed to be an obvious one; there had been several suicides off of the dam, a few accidental drownings (hence the chain link around the embankment), and probably a few dumped bodies.

“No, please,” whimpered Klaus, actively struggling in Luther’s grip.

“Number Three?” asked Luther.

“No, please, Allison, don’t make me, I don’t want to--”

“I heard a rumor this was your idea.”

“This was your idea, Klaus,” repeated Luther.

Klaus had stopped fighting; he stumbled beside Luther, who was holding his arm, looking confused.  “I-- I know, I know, but it was just a suggestion. I don’t want to do this,” he said breathlessly.

“I heard a rumor you felt up to it this morning,” said Allison.

“...come on, Four, you were just saying how this would be a piece of cake,” said Ben.

Klaus grimaced.  “Are you sure?  I hate the drowned ones…”

“No, you were bragging about it in the car, you said we’d be done with the mission before breakfast,” said Diego.

“That’s what I heard,” agreed Luther.

Klaus nodded uncomfortably.  “Y-yeah… yeah, I guess… let’s just get it over with, I _hate_ the drowned ones.”

They made it down to the water; the rushing of the falls was deafening, and the flashing spotlights from the helicopters warbled over the churning surface of the water, making it look even more violent than it already was.

Klaus sat on the ground and kicked off his shoes, taking a shaky breath.

“I could just go under, you know,” said Diego, looking longingly at the water.

“No, Two.”

Klaus closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath.  “Okay. Here we go. Here we-- _gah_!”  He grabbed his head.  Within minutes, he was curled up, knees drawn up to his chest, sobbing.  “Stop, stop-- oh, God, stop-- leave me alone-- please, leave me alone--”

“Klaus, you need to ask one of them to go look inside for us,” Luther reminded him.

“They can’t touch you, Klaus, remember?  We’re all here; you’re safe,” said Allison.

Klaus sobbed.  “Shut up, shut up.  Just listen to me. Oh, God, stop, just listen, please.  Please, I need you to--” He let out a shriek and tried to scramble back from some unseen entity.

“Come on, Klaus, I know you can do this.  Be brave,” Luther encouraged him.

“I need to go to the control room.  I need to go to the control room. Please.  I need to go-- I need to get in without being seen.  Please,” whimpered Klaus, eyes screwed shut. One arm was wrapped around his knees, the other was extended out, trying to ward something off.  “Please, I just need to know who’s inside, I-- I’ll help you later, please-- oh, God, oh, God, that one’s got its guts coming out--”

“Sounds terrible,” muttered Ben darkly, looking away.  Allison elbowed him and shot him a warning look.

“--okay-- okay, emergency exit on the south end of the bridge?  --none in that stairwell? --but the door is barred.”

“That’s not a problem,” said Luther confidently.

“Okay, they-- they say there are a dozen people and four hostages.  You can get in through the south side, take the stairwell down two floor, then take the service hallway to another stairwell to the fifth floor, and then turn left instead of right.  The signs point right but-- but you can turn left and go around. You won’t meet anyone that way,” reported Klaus, his voice shaking.

“Great job, Klaus!” said Luther.  “Come on, guys, let’s go back up and take the back door.  ...Ben, you feel ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” said Ben, shrugging.

Luther helped Klaus stand up; Allison put an arm around him to led him back up the enbankment’s stairs and he leaned against her shoulder, sniffling and wiping his face.

When they got back, Klaus went to wait in the car; Luther, Allison, and Ben jogged off, ignoring the clamoring of reporters, while Diego stood next to a couple of cops, trying not to slouch lest Reginald yell at him later in the car.  (Reginald was standing firmly with his back to the car, arms crossed, observing, as stoic as ever.)

“Aren’t you going in?” asked one of the police officers.

“...no.  I’m guarding the perimeters.  ...in case you guys need my help,” said Diego.

“Wow, that’s great.  ...you know, any of you kids would be dynamite on the force.  There’s no cops in Argyle who’ve got superpowers… yet,” joked the deputy.

Diego chuckled appreciatively; at least _someone_ appreciated his skills.

As Klaus’s ghosts had mentioned the emergency exit on the southside was barred, but Luther was able to break it open without any issue.  The three teens snuck into the power facility, pausing occasionally to listen and make sure they weren’t about to bump into anyone. But the hallways were silent.

They paused in a brightly lit corridor on the fifth floor; there were signs on the walls with arrows pointing to the central control rooms, turbine rooms, bathrooms, and offices.

Luther jerked his head to the left instead of the right, as Klaus had suggested.  Ben had pulled a yellow hard hard from a peg on the wall and was trying it on.

“How do I look?” he whispered.

“Not sure that’s your color,” replied Allison.

“Would you two stop goofing off!  ...we’re nearly there and we need to stay focused,” whispered Luther furiously, plucking the hat from Ben’s head and replacing it.  “Dad and the sheriff said that they’re armed so we need to be vigilante. Ben, are you ready?”

Ben sighed, looking down at the bright, tiled floor and nodded.

Luther jogged down the hall, with Allison and Ben in his wake.  The hallway took several turns but, sure enough, at some point it curved around and they saw a sign that said they were heading toward the control room.  They discovered it at the end of a wide hallway, closed and neatly labeled with a no-nonsense sign in all capital letters.

“Okay, Ben, I’m going to open the door on three,” whispered Luther, gripping the knob.  They assumed it was locked, but locks could rarely keep any of them out. “One… two…”

Luther’s muscles bulged and he snapped the knob off, slamming his shoulder into the door; it burst open and Ben flew past him, ripping open his shirt. 

A dozen shrill screams erupted from the control room; Ben contributed his as his tentacles flung out and wrapped around the torsos of the nearest bodies.  Someone discharged a gun and Luther pushed Allison out of the way, but he needn’t have bothered; the gunfire sent the tentacles into a frenzy. One of them dripped a dark blood that was nearly black, but it hadn’t been slowed at all; it grabbed the woman who had fired at it and smashed her head into a control panel with a sickening crunch.  Other tentacles coiled, squeezing, while some grabbed and flung.

The screaming stopped.

Luther and Allison peeked over Ben’s shoulders, just in time to see two tentacles, one coiled around a neck and the other around a pair of ankles, cooperatively yank a woman apart.  Blood splattered across their faces.

“Geez, Ben,” said Luther.

“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!” cried Ben.  On the floor, the woman who had lost her lower half gaped like a goldfish, her scream silent; there was still a tentacle wrapped around her neck and her face was a deep, bruised purple.

“Are all these lights s’posed to be blinking red?” asked Allison, pointing to the control panel in the room.  It was lit up like a Christmas tree, splattered with human remains and dented in several places. Most of Ben’s tentacles lay on the floor like fat, glistening worms, contented with the destruction they had wrought.

“...uh-oh,” said Luther, as a sign flashed SYSTEM FAILURE.  “...Dad’s gonna be pissed.”

Ben’s tentacles retracted, and the three raced out of the control room to inform the police that the perps had been… dealt with.  Unfortunately, a city-wide blackout was already in effect. Apparently, the controls for the hydroelectric dam were not designed to have multiple bodies smashed against them violently.

“I’m extremely disappointed in you, Number Six, for your lack of control.  And you, Number One, for your lack of leadership,” said Reginald as they drove home.  Everyone was quiet because they didn’t want attention to be called to them; they stared out of the windows at the sun, which was just beginning to peak over the horizon.

When they got home, thankfully, Reginald had mellowed out moderately.  He told Luther, Allison, and Ben to go clean themselves up, and dismissed the rest to breakfast.  Even though all of the other houses on the block were without power for two days, the Hargreeves mansion remained lit up, a bright beacon in an otherwise dark city.


	5. Make-Believe in the Hargreeves Household

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy slice-of-life stuff. Enjoy; new missions are a-comin'.

“ _Let’s Get Kracken: City Police Commends Umbrella Academy Hero For Taking Initiative to Escort Citizens to Safety During City Blackout_ ,” read Diego in the lounge.  His eyes crinkled in a smile as he looked at his siblings over the top of the newspaper.

“Ben took down twelve people, and _you_ worked the perimeter, and somehow _you’re_ the hero?” scoffed Klaus.

“We’re all heroes,” said Ben graciously.

“Your name just works best as a pun.  If they could find a way to make Spaceboy or Séance clever, they’d use that for the headline instead,” said Luther.

“ _Séyancé Leaves Destiny’s Child, Becomes Billboard-Topping Superstar_ ,” mused Klaus.

“Ew.  No,” said Allison, throwing a pillow at him from the couch.  He laughed, ducking. Grace tutted as she wandered past, stepping over Luther (he was lying on the floor working on a homework essay) to dust the bookshelf.

“Remember that time we had the escort mission in Quebec and I pushed the prime minister out of the way of that gunman and all the headlines said ‘Le Kraken Sauve la Journée?'”

“You saved all the newspaper clippings for your scrapbook.  Of course we didn’t forget,” said Klaus.

Diego grabbed a pillow to hit him; he was sensitive about mentions of his scrapbook.

“Boys!” admonished Grace lightly.

“Bet they used your name ‘cause it’s the only one that translates perfectly,” said Ben.  (He was still annoyed by headlines calling him “Shokushu monsutā shōnen” in Japan and “Koshmarnyy urod” in Russia.)

“Séance is already French, though,” pointed out Allison.

“Ah oui, Madame, it is,” said Klaus.  “Fitting, since I’m pretty sure I’m from France.”

“No, dear, you were born in Austria,” said Grace gently as she stepped over Luther again.

“Someday, I’m gonna get a tattoo on the bottom of my foot that says, Made in Austria,” said Klaus.

“If you did that, Dad would send you back,” said Luther.

“...pretty sure all of our parents said no refunds,” said Allison.  They all laughed, then turned back to their homework after a while. The subject of their birth parents rarely came up and, when it did, it was quickly squashed.  They all all grown up knowing perfectly well that they were adopted, but preferred not to think of their “real” mothers, who, Reginald had made perfectly clear, did not want them, which is why they had been “turned over” to the Academy.

Grace, on the other hand, had been programmed to love them, and she hummed lightly to fill the silence.

* * *

“As you all know, I shall be out of town for one week, beginning tomorrow,” announced Reginald near the end of the month.  They did know, and had been looking forward to it. Any guilt about wanting their father to leave for a week was superseded by the knowledge that Reginald’s trips meant no special training and more free time, plus a stipend to amuse themselves with.  “I do not expect this to be an excuse for any of you to slack off in your studies; if anything, I expect you to apply yourselves with more vigor than ever. Pogo will be taking over your tutelage during my absence and will be reporting to me upon my return.”

“Thank you, Master Reginald,” said Pogo quietly from a doorway in the back of the room.

“I shall leave you with seventy dollars to spend as you see fit.  Don’t waste it on frivolous entertainment.” They always did.

The money was handed to Luther, who was distracted from his lessons all day.  Reginald departed mind-afternoon; they all gathered in the hall to see him off but he left without saying good-bye to anyone, as was his custom. 

That evening, in the lounge, Luther counted out the seventy, plus the one-seventy they had gotten for their birthday.

“Technically, we each get about forty dollars.  But we could buy one big thing if we all agreed on it,” said Luther.

“A motorcycle!” said Diego.

“...no motorcycle that’s safe enough to ride is only gonna cost two hundred and forty dollars,” scoffed Allison.

“A dog,” said Ben.

“Dad would never let us get a dog.”

“Besides, we have Pogo,” said Klaus.

“ _Klaus_.”

“I didn’t mean it like _that_!  I meant Pogo wouldn’t like a dog, either!”

“We could all go ice skating on Saturday,” suggested Vanya quietly.

“How ‘bout a bowling night at Super Star?” suggested Luther.

“Naw, I’m sick of the Super Star.  Allison always wants to do karaoke there.”

“...what’s wrong with karaoke?” demanded Allison, crossing her arms.

“Roller skating!” said Klaus.

“I said--” began Vanya.

“Roller skating sounds fun,” agreed Ben.

“What if we bought candy and actually handed it out on Halloween?” blurted Diego.

Everyone stopped clamoring and considered.  The Hargreeves household had never celebrated a Halloween beyond Grace carving a single jack-o’-lantern to set on the front step, where it was promptly removed the first day of November.

“...we could dress up as ourselves,” said Allison.

Everyone tittered.

Their fame had never gone to their heads; they were too isolated for that.  They had appeared, as a team, in magazine interviews, morning television shows, and headlining every single one of the city’s newspapers.  But their forays into public relations was always under the watchful eye of Reginald Hargreeves, who tightly controlled every photo op and public appearance.  He emphasized that although they were all remarkable, they needed to remain humble, both for PR reasons and so that they never overestimated themselves. Hubris, taught Reginald, should be their primary concern, because hubris was what felled most heroes, and that they were only as remarkable as the rest of the world was _un_ remarkable.

Not even the unique circumstances of their birth made them entirely unique.  After all, the “Phenomenon,” as it was referred to in the news, had occurred 43 times around the globe.  They were only seven of those 43. And being part of the the Phenomenon was no guarantee in and of itself; Vanya, for example, was perfectly ordinary.  Reginald often pointed to her and informed the children that there, but for the grace of God, went them.

They heeded these warnings as much as any child could be expected to, and that, combined with growing up in a household with so many siblings, kept them all relatively grounded.  Their general isolation from the outside world and their peers ensured they only understood their fame in a literal sense; they never felt it, and often poked fun at the idea of themselves as “superheroes.”  As far as the Hargreeves were concerned, being famous crime-fighters with enhanced abilities was perfectly normal.

“No one would come, though.  We’ve never passed out candy before,” said Vanya.

“We could have Mom light up the jack-o’-lantern so people know that this year is different,” suggested Ben.

“Yeah.  We could see other kids,” agreed Allison.

“I don’t know... “  Klaus scratched the inside of his left palm.  Halloween was a sensitive subject for him; he was not a fan of horror films or of people pretending to be dead.

“Dad would probably be mad if he knew we were inviting people to come up and knock on the door,” said Luther, but even he couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“...what if _we_ went trick-or-treating?” asked Ben.

Luther and Alluson laughed, then realized he was serious.  “Ben, we’re way too old,” said Allison gently. “That’s for kids.  We’re seventeen.”

“I know, but… we’ve never done it.  And no one would be able to tell we’re seventeen if we were wearing masks.  And we already all own masks.”

“That’s stupid.  Dad left us money.  We can just go to the store and buy all the candy we want,” interjected Diego.

“Okay, okay, let’s just vote.  We can either go bowling, or roller skating,” said Luther.

“Ice skating,” corrected Vanya.  Luther ignored her. The subject of ice skating vs. roller skating was dropped when the vote came out strongly in favor of bowling; Luther and Allison always voted together and their opinions were usually the ones to guide the rest of the group.  Although not the most exciting activity in the world (they went bowling often enough to know the order in which they’d finish; Diego always won) it was at least cheap, and they ended up not having to spend any of their birthday money at all.

* * *

The Hargreeves had been raised to be eminently practical children.  They were rarely indulged in fantasy or imagination; beyond formulating plans to save the day and beat bad guys, Reginald saw no use for such things.  Their imaginations were limited by what was practical and could be translated into real-world actions.

Perhaps because of this, none of them spent too much time on “what-ifs.”  They knew they were all adopted but rarely thought of or spoke of their birth mothers.  They knew other children went to public schools and had friends who weren’t siblings, but never asked to go or imagined what it would be like.  It was understood that their lives were different because they were different; they were extraordinary. All of them but Vanya.

Because of her lack of powers, Vanya was allowed more indulgence in creative pursuits than the others.  Branded the “artistic” one, she was something of a savant with most instruments, most especially the violin, and was allowed to read fiction books that had no bearing on her training.  When they were younger, the others would take brief breaks during the day to ask Vanya what was happening to Alice in Wonderland, or how Oliver Twist was faring. But as they grew up, curiosity grew into resentment.  Vanya did not have any trainings, individual or otherwise, and it seemed to the rest that she was living a life of luxury with ample free time.

Often, Vanya tagged along to group trainings.  She was not allowed to participate but could sometimes be of help to Reginald, who would give her a tally sheet or a stop watch and put her to work.  This desperate attempt to join in only made things worse, because it made her appear to be the judgemental party. If she tallied only three parries from Diego in a sparring session, Reginald would yell at him to do better, while Diego sent Vanya a withering glare, clearing blaming her for delivering evidence of his failures to Reginald.

Armed with plenty of free time and a desperate wish to be special, Vanya’s inner life was relatively rich compared to that of her siblings’.  She was a voracious reader and, when she wasn’t reading, liked to write stories in her head. Some of them involved her discovering she was special.  She always felt an odd sense of guilt, of _wrongness_ , for thinking this.  Fantasies that didn’t make her feel guilty included being invited to private trainings and becoming one of the other Hargreeves’s trusted confidante and best friend; being put in charge of the press coverage for the Umbrella Academy and acting as a sort of “agent” (currently, media scheduling was largely handled by Pogo); and somehow being the one to get Five to come home.

Vanya had never saved anyone in her life and knew that she’d never get an opportunity like her siblings did.  Her hobbled fantasies were still grounded in reality; Vanya never expected to be able to save people from a burning building or a tsunami.  Instead, she imagined a muted homecoming, one in which their lost sibling, Five, would return to find her waiting, and would be pleased that she had never given up on him, and they’d become best friends, and perhaps Five would demand Vanya be allowed to partake in group trainings.

That was probably her favorite day dream.

Five’s absence had many explanations, none of them satisfactory.  Five had “disappeared,” “vanished,” “run away,” and/or was “missing,” depending on who you asked.  He was never thought to be dead (at least out loud) and there was a large portrait of him in the front room, a sort of shrine that Reginald would sometimes walk past and pause for a half-beat of consideration.  Clearly, he was devastated.

Five had left right around the time that Grace had begun naming them.  She hadn’t gotten to them all at once; she had named Allison and Diego first, but taken time deciding on names for the rest of them.  Five had vanished before getting his, running off after an explosive argument with Reginald over dinner.

In a typical Reginald manner, Five’s disappearance was never addressed beyond a fly-by mention.  They carried on as usual with studies; there was no grieving or memorial service; time trudged on and everyone gradually got used to Five simply being… gone.  The large portrait in the main room appeared two months after his disappearance with zero fanfare.

Taking a clue from Reginald, no one spoke about Five.  But Vanya thought about him often. Where he was, and if he was even trying to get back, and if he got back what his name might be.  Five certainly got mythologized in Vanya’s imagination; he became the friend she’d never had, the other odd-one-out, and she missed him desperately even though they’d never been particularly close before his disappearance.

In an effort to make her dreams materialize, she got out of bed often in the middle of the night to go and turn on the front porch lights, and then go to the kitchen to make a snack, imagining he’d come in and find her and she’d get to be there for the joyful reunion.  (Even in her fantasies she was never the main protagonist, merely a sidekick.)

She slipped out of bed in the wee hours of November first, the night after they’d gone bowling, and tip-toed out into the hallway, nearly bumping into Klaus, who let out a high-pitched yelp and then clamped his hand over his mouth.

“Sorry!” she whispered.  Even in the dark, she could see the whites of Klaus’s eyes.  “I’m going to get a snack. Want to come with?”

Klaus nodded, eyes still wide.  In one of Vanya’s books, she’d read the phrase “looked like he’d seen a ghost.”  That phrase was hauntingly accurate when it came to Klaus.

“Can I borrow one of your pills?” he whispered as he followed her down the stairs.

“No.  It’s not borrowing if you can’t return it.”

“It’s really bad tonight, though.  It’s Halloween.”

Vanya wasn’t sure she believed it was any worse on Halloween than any other night.  “It’s technically November now,” she retorted.

“Se- _vennn_ ,” whined Klaus.  (In the Hargreeves household, using one’s number was akin to using their full name.)  (None of them had middle names.)

“Come on; I’ll make you a sandwich.”  She led Klaus downstairs to the kitchen, where she pulled out bread and peanut butter while Klaus sat perched on the edge of a chair, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble, corporeal or otherwise.  Although getting caught by Reginald inevitably resulted in a scolding and a loss of privileges, Pogo and Grace were less disciplinary and occasionally looked the other way if the children got up to visit each other or wander around the house.  (In fact, the last time Pogo had caught Vanya up and wandering around the library, he’d offered her a first-edition copy of _Little Women_ to take back to her room with her; Diego had, more than once, gone to sit up with Mom on sleepless nights.)

“If you can’t talk to Five, that means he’s still alive,” said Vanya wisely as she pulled open the cabinets to find sugar.

“Not necessarily.  I don’t know what the rules are, really.  Some people you just can’t conjure. It’s like they never existed,” said Klaus.  Then, he added, “But I think Five is still alive, too. He probably just doesn’t want to come back.  He probably poofed somewhere exciting.”

“Like a pirate ship.”

“Yeah.  Or a monastery in China.”

“A ranch in Texas.”

“Hollywood.”

“Australia.”

“Africa.”

“The moon.”

Klaus snorted.  “There’s no air on the moon.”

“He’d pop in, look around, and pop out,” said Vanya, shrugging as she slid a butter-and-sugar sandwich toward Klaus.  “He can go anywhere. Maybe that’s what he does. Goes everywhere. Maybe he comes back here late at night to eat and then leaves again.”

Klaus peeled the crusts off his sandwich.  “Doubt it. Dad has cameras everywhere. ...if I could go anywhere, I wouldn’t come back.”

“Where would you go?”

“...somewhere without ghosts.”

“But there’s no air on the moon.  Remember?”

Klaus offered a wry smile.  “Yeah. ...maybe Antarctica or something?  I don’t know. ...somewhere.” They lapsed into silence, Klaus taking tiny bites of his sandwich without much enthusiasm while Vanya made a third.

“Well, I’m glad you haven’t gone.  For what it’s worth,” she offered quietly without looking up, as the sound of the butter knife clicked against the glass of the peanut butter jar.

“...thanks.  You’re my favorite sister.  Tied with Allison.”

Vanya looked up, smiling.  “I’m tied with Allison?”

“Yeah.  You’re okay.  Even if you’re boring,” said Klaus.  “...can I have a pill now?”

Vanya scoffed and threw Five’s sandwich at him.

* * *

When the first snow fell, the children begged to go outside instead of staying in during their evening “reflection time.”  Grace relented and they tore into the courtyard laughing with glee, flinging snowballs at each other. (No one ever flung any at Diego, knowing that if he ever decided to return fire, they’d be dead.  Diego slung snow at everyone equally, having no particular vendetta against anyone, although he did tend to hit Luther more frequently in the head than the rest.)

Reginald watched over them regally, both hands on his cane, Pogo beside him, likewise leaning on a cane.

After thirty minutes of chasing each other around the courtyard and stuffing snow down each other’s backs, the teens tired, and eventually broke off into smaller groups; Allison and Vanya got to work on a snowman, while Ben and Klaus scaled the oak tree in the middle of the yard.  Diego flung snow at a third-story window, trying to get their mother’s attention; on the other side, Grace was washing the window, alternatively making faces at Diego and pretending not to notice him.

Luther walked up to Reginald and stood beside him, surveying the courtyard in quiet solidarity, hands clasped behind his back.

“Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.  From what I’ve tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.  But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate to say that, for destruction, ice is also great and would suffice,” proclaimed Reginald abruptly.

Luther nodded wisely.

“Robert Frost wrote that.  If you were paying attention in your literature studies, you might have recognized it,” said Reginald.

Luther stopped nodding; Reginald had recited it so casually that he hadn’t realized it was quote.

“And how do you think the world will end, Number One?  In fire, or ice?”

Luther rocked back on his feet.  “I… I don’t think the world will end, sir.  So long as the Umbrella Academy is here to protect it,” he said.

“All good things end.  Eventually. And the world can hardly be said to be a good thing.  So, then. Fire, or ice?”

Luther looked out at the courtyard, at his siblings playing in the snow.  It felt like a trick question. “...fire, I think,” he said finally.

“Don’t underestimate ice, Number One.  Its silence makes it all the more dangerous than fire.  Sometimes, the greatest threats are those which we underestimate,” said Reginald.  He turned away, moving to go back inside.

“...Dad?”

“Yes, Number One?”

“How do _you_ think the world will end?”

“It will end as it’s meant to.  Until then, I rely on you to keep it safe, Number One.”  He walked inside; Pogo stepped gingerly after him, wincing a little at the powdery snow on his bare feet.  Pogo only ever wore shoes when necessary to leave the house; otherwise, he preferred to keep them bare. As a chimp, wearing shoes was akin to wearing mittens, and he found them extremely inconvenient.

Diego jogged up to Luther, huffing, his breath coming out in puffs of steam.  “What did Dad say?”

“He said we have to keep the world safe.”

Diego scoffed a little.  “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me, don’t tell me.”

“That’s what he said!” protested Luther.  Diego often acted like Luther and Reginald were keeping secrets, but the truth was, Reginald was as inscrutable with Luther as he was with all the rest of them. 

“What, I don’t even care,” said Diego, mashing snow up into a ball.

“If you throw that at me--” began Luther, but he never managed to finish his threat.  Diego was merely a diversion; from the branches of the tree above, Ben and Klaus jumped up and down, raining snow down upon him.  They would have done it sooner, but hadn’t dared get any on Reginald.

* * *

They were instructed to pack bags for one week at morning briefing without explanation; the last time they’d been instructed to do so, it had been to go to India. 

“I hope it’s Paris again,” whispered Allison excitedly over lunch. 

“I hated Paris.  What sort of idiot city builds itself over catacombs?” asked Klaus glumly, peeling the crusts off of his tuna sandwich and pushing them onto Luther’s plate.

“Maybe it’s just a drill,” said Vanya, hopefully.  She had never left the city; the other children had been to fourteen other countries on various missions. 

“If it were a drill, Dad wouldn’t give us notice this morning,” said Luther.  “...I wish he’d told us where we’re going, though. What if it’s Egypt and we all pack our coats?”

“Ugh.  Egypt,” groaned Klaus, who had not like Cairo any more than Paris.

“Mom, do you know where we’re going tomorrow?” asked Allison.

“No, dear.  Would you like some more carrot sticks?”

“One week is a really long time.  ...do you think the city’ll be okay without us?” asked Diego.

“Elbows off the table, honey.”

“It’ll be fine.  They’ve got a police department, you know,” scoffed Ben.

“I know, I know… but they sort of rely on us, you know?”

“Elbows, dear.”  Diego put his hands in his lap.

“I think they can live without ‘The Kraken’ for one week, Number Two,” said Ben with a roll of his eyes.  Diego flushed a little; in the newspaper the night before, an op-ed piece had run in the paper about the Umbrella Academy, and the police chief had been quoted as saying that they weren’t vigilantes and cooperated fully with the police and that in particular the Kraken worked well with official law officers, and so the police department did not see the Umbrella Academy as any sort of issue, legally speaking.  Diego always saved articles that specifically mentioned him by name; most of the time, articles only referred to them as a collective, or, if they took a quote, took it from Luther, who was recognized as the unofficial leader because of his number.

Reginald had never explained his naming system, or how he distributed their numbers, but it was assumed it was either by the order of their birth (they had all been born within the same hour, making such designations as “big brother” or “little sister” mostly meaningless) or by the order in which he had acquired them.  In any case, Luther had taken on his role as Number One naturally, and they all tended to follow his leadership. The rest of the world have given them nicknames long before they’d gotten “real” names. Reginald found the nicknames tacky and refused to use them, continuing to refer to the children by number long after everyone else in the world had given them nicknames; he seethed a little whenever he read a soundbite from “Spaceboy” or “Rumor,” and had gone on record as stating that the members of the Umbrella Academy preferred their rank designation to be used in lieu of their public personas.  This was entirely untrue; Diego loved being the Kraken and had signed dozens of posters; Allison, likewise, enjoyed the attention and signed her name as “Rumor” for the fans. (Briefly, she’d experimented with signing “Rumour,” because it looked more chic and exotic, but had gone back to the usual signing of it after a while.)

“Finish up, children.  Lunchtime is nearly over,” chirped Grace, setting an orange in front of Ben.  He reached for it.

“Maybe Dad doesn’t know where we’re going yet,” he suggested.

Everyone stared at him in shock.

“Don’t be stupid, Ben.  Dad knows everything,” said Luther.

“Mom, can I have an orange?” asked Klaus.

“You already had your orange.”

“I’m still hungry.  Can I have another orange?”

“Vanya, would you like an orange?” asked Grace.

Vanya shook her head.  “Klaus can have my orange.”

“...hey, maybe we’ll go to Florida and Dad’ll take us to Disney World!” said Ben, struggling to peel his fruit.

“Why would Dad take us to Disney World?” deadpanned Diego.

“...for saving the world, obviously.”

“What if we went to Disneyland and we ran into Five?” asked Allison, smiling.

“ _Number Five, this field trip is highly irregular,”_ mimicked Klaus.

 _“This is not an approved recreational activity,”_ mimicked Diego.

“Oh, kids,” scolded Grace gently, taking Ben’s fruit to help him peel it. 

That night, everyone packed for warm weather even though it was late November and had been snowing heavily all week.  Subconsciously, even though they knew they’d never go to Disney World, Ben’s suggestion had wormed its way into their brains, and that night, every single one of them imagined a vacation drenched in sunshine.


	6. The Escort

The destination for the next mission turned out to be Brazil.

Reginald briefed them on the plane ride down.

“United States intelligence has determined that a rogue band of insurgents is attempting to interfere with a weapons shipment.  It is your job is protect the shipment and ensure the safe arrival of the products on time and undamaged, by any means necessary.”

“I think I accidentally took your mask, Three,” said Diego, checking his mask; it wasn’t fitting correctly.

“Are you paying attention, Number Two?”

“Yes, Dad,” said Diego, as he and Allison switched masks.

“This mission is top-secret; you will have no martial aid and so you must be fully self-reliant.  As a team, you are greater than the sum of your parts. Remember that.”

“What’s the means of transportation?” asked Luther.

“The items are being unloaded from a vessel onto a convoy; that convoy will take it to an airfield for shipment.  Until the plane leaves the ground, I expect you all to treat this situation with delicacy.”

“Ow.  Dad, Allison keeps pinching me!”

“Silence, Number Six.  The escort should take no longer than two or three hours.  It is critical that no weapons fall into the hands of the insurgents.”

“They won’t, Dad,” said Luther firmly.  He reached over to smack Allison’s hands lightly; she rolled her eyes at them and they shared a private, teasing smile.  Klaus mimed vomiting; Diego mimed choking himself.

When the plane landed it was dark.  Reginald had a brief conversation with a man in a suit.

“What’s he saying?” whispered Luther.  Diego was the only one who spoke Portuguese.

“...he’s arranging to have our stuff taken to a hotel.”

“Why are we staying in a hotel if the whole escort mission only takes a few hours?”

“...maybe the mission’s just an excuse for us to be here and we’re on standby for some other, bigger mission,” said Ben.

Luther nodded.  This had happened before.

In the darkness, they piled into a rental car, with Luther in the front passenger seat, and the five kids crammed into the back.  They were used to sharing close quarters and have an arrangement that was already agreed upon; Allison sat in Luther’s lap, Klaus sat in Diego’s, and Ben, the smallest, crammed in the middle.  (Before Five’s disappearance, they had done it by number: Two sat on One, Four sat on Three, and Six sat on Five.)

“Can we listen to the radio?” asked Luther hopefully.

“No.  You have no need for music; it would only distract you.  I expect all of your thoughts from here on out to be on your success as a team,” snapped Reginald.

“Hey, a monkey!” said Diego, pressing against the window; the car swerved to avoid it and Klaus complained loudly as his head banged against the window.  (He never wore his seatbelt.)

“Okay, here’s the plan,” said Luther.  “Allison, I want you at the front of the convoy as a distraction.  No one’ll fire on a little girl. I’ll take the back, in case there’s an ambush from the back; I’m the strongest so I’ll be able to fight ‘em off and we can just outrun them if that happens.  Klaus, you and Ben take middle positions. Diego--”

“Please don’t say perimeter.”

“Up front with Allison.  You speak Portuguese and you have distance attacks, so I want you front and center.”

Diego’s face lit up.  “Really?”

“Yeah, really.  Don’t mess up.”

“You can count on me, Number One!”  The car swerved again; Klaus’s head banged against the window.

* * *

The docks were quiet in the wee hours of the morning; the kids stumbled out of the car yawning.  Reginald gave Ben’s ankles a few smart taps with his cane. “None of that, now! Look lively!”

A man in a military uniform strode up and gave Reginald a firm handshake.  Reginald snagged Diego to act as an interpreter; Reginald’s Portuguese was not entirely up to snuff.  The rest of the children looked around, bored, at the pale lanterns, seaside fog, unmarked crates, and lonesome sailors.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” asked a sailor, flicking a cigarette butt at Klaus.

“...shouldn’t you be on a boat?” countered Klaus, kicking the cigarette away from him.

The man laughed harshly.  “Nice try. I’m a submarine officer; I spend my time under the water, not on top of it.”

“Oh, yeah?  Well, then, where’s your submarine?”

“In the port.  I’m on leave. You know, we only get a few days to come ashore, and it’d be nice if we could do it without a bunch of snot-nosed little schoolkids hanging around the pier.”

“You’re telling me you spend _all_ your time in a submarine?” asked Klaus incredulously.

“Just about.  And let me tell you, something, kid… it’s the loneliest gig in the world.  Just you and your crew, a dozen other guys, in a little space far away from any civilization with nothing but each other’s company.  Nobody but you and your men, all alone. It’s about as far away from anyone as you can get. What do you think of that?”

“...hm,” said Klaus.

“Number Four!” hissed Luther.

“Coming!” said Klaus quickly, scurrying away.

Some members of the Brazilian police had come to show them about; Diego basked in the attention, swaggering as he translated for everyone which cars were part of the convoy.  There were three trucks, tall, unmarked, drab olive vehicles, the beds covered by high tarps.

“You’re all clear on the importance of guarding the shipment, and ensuring that these weapons don’t fall into the wrong hands?” asked Reginald, slapping the top of a crate.

“Yes, Dad,” they all chimed.  Allison stifled a yawn; Luther caught it and hid his own yawn behind his hand.

“Very well.  I shall see you all in the morning when you have seen the shipment safely to its destination,” said Reginald.  He turned to say his good-byes to a man dressed in a military uniform; Diego translated for them. The man gave an envelope to Reginald.

There were a total of six vehicles; only three of them carried weapons.  The other three were cars loaded with men who were brandishing weapons.  All of the children were comfortable around weapons and had been trained to use them, themselves, so they paid no mind to the armed guards.  Luther arranged them into their respective vehicles; he would take one, Ben and Klaus would take the other, and Allison and Diego would sit in the first truck.

“Testing, testing,” said Klaus into a walkie-talkie.  Everyone else’s chirped. “This is Séyancé, thanking all my fans for coming out today.  Here’s an oldie but a goodie… _I’m a survivor, I’m not gonna give up, I’m not gonna stop_ \--”

Luther reached over and yanked the radio from his hands; he handed it to Ben.  “You be in charge of Four’s,” he said.

Diego twisted a finger in his ear.  “Don’t quit your day job, Four. Everyone move out!”

Luther rolled his eyes but didn’t bother correcting Diego; he had about to give the same order.

The five children dispersed.  Klaus and Ben helped each other get into the back of one of the trucks; Ben was too short and struggled to make it into the bed.  Behind them, Luther jumped into the covered truck with ease. In front, Diego and Allison piled into a car next to a man in a military uniform.  He frowned; Allison smiled.

“Can we listen to the radio?” asked Allison.

“Podemos ouvir o rádio?” relayed Diego.

The man leaned forward and flicked on the radio; dance music poured over them.  Diego pressed the button of his handheld radio and held it up to the car’s speakers.  “Hey, Luther, our car has radio.”

Diego’s radio cackled.  “Oh, so _now_ we like music?” grumbled Klaus.

“Your singing hardly qualifies as music,” scoffed Luther.

The car started up with a rumbled and drove away from the dock.  Diego and Allison bounced together in the front seat, wedged in together, sharing a seatbelt.  Diego squinted out the window at the dark road; there were few street lamps and the fog rolling in from the ocean made visibility low.  It was, objectively, a great night for a heist. Everyone was suddenly very awake.

Despite the cheery electronic dance music playing on the tinny radio, it felt superbly quiet.  The ride was only supposed to take two hours, but they were taking rugged, narrow backroads, whose potholes prevented them from going full speed.  The driver’s knuckles on the steering wheel were white.

Ninety minutes into their journey, it happened.  They had just turned around a bend; the headlights of the car caught a yellow caution sign, and Diego espied movement.  The driver slammed on the brakes; behind them, the other cars braked and swerved to avoid rear-ending them. The driver swore; Diego had already leaned out of the window and flung a knife.

There was a shriek in the otherwise quiet night.

"Got him!" he yelled.

Allison unbuckled her seatbelt and tumbled out of the car after Diego, who had dove out and was stalking upon their assailant with a blade held in two fingers, ready to pitch it.

In the middle of the road, a small monkey lay gasping, a knife stuck in its side.

“Oh, no!” gasped Allison.

“What is it?” asked Luther, running up; Ben and Klaus ran up behind him, followed by several men wielding semi-automatic rifles.

The man in the military uniform said something to the driver in Portuguese and smacked the back of his head.  The driver apologized profusely, shakily pulling out a cigarette; the military officer smacked that out of his hand, too.

“It was just a monkey,” said Diego helplessly, lowering his knife.

“...well, put it out of its misery!” said Klaus shrilly.

“ _What_?”

“Look at it!”

The monkey was flailing uselessly in the road, its actions uncoordinated and weak.  A pool of dark blood was seeping on to the bumpy pavement.

“Help him!” begged Ben.

Diego looked over at Luther desperately.  “I can’t. You do it.”

“What?!  I’m not the one who threw a knife at it!”

“I just reacted!  ...I don’t wanna kill it.”

“Well, it’s gonna die anyway.”  The monkey had stilled and was gasping wetly on the road.  It tried to rise, couldn’t, and fell with a soft, wet smack into the puddle it had created.

“Maybe we can take him with us,” said Ben, shrugging off his jacket, clearly intent on wrapping the monkey up.  Klaus grabbed his arm; the monkey shrieked at them, attempting to get up when Ben stepped forward.

One of the men with rifles yelled at them in Portuguese and gestured back to the trucks.

“We have to do something,” begged Ben.  “We can’t just leave him here like this.”

“It’s _your_ monkey, Two.  You do it,” said Allison, crossing her arms.

“I cuh… I can’t.  I didn’t mean to,” protested Diego.  “Puh… p- _please_ , Luther. You’re N-number One.”

Luther looked at Diego, and his shoulders sagged.  He walked over and knelt to break the monkey’s neck.  Ben covered his eyes; Klaus patted his shoulder.

Luther strode back over, offering Diego his knife.  Diego eyed it uncomfortably. Luther wiped it on his pants.  “...it’s okay. He’s not hurting anymore,” he said in a low voice.  Diego took his knife. “False alarm,” called Luther, louder. “Let’s get back on the road!”

Everyone piled back into their respective cars and they began driving again.  Allison played with the radio, trying not to look at Diego, who was staring out the window with a tight jaw.  She found a pop station and they listened to that.

As it turned out, the threat never materialized.  The convoy reached the airfield without any incident, and the children stood on the tarmac watching as the crates of weapons were loaded from the vehicles onto planes.

“We stayed up all night for no reason,” grumbled Diego, kicking the tires of one of the trucks.

“Well, it wasn’t for no reason.   Maybe the only reason the convoy wasn’t attacked was because they saw us and knew we’d defend the shipment,” said Allison reasonably, shifting uncomfortably.  The night was cold and she was wearing a skirt; the boys, in their shorts, were not much more comfortable.

“Listen, Diego… you did exactly what any of us would have done.  You reacted quickly to a potential threat, and you don’t need to feel bad about--” began Luther.

“Shut up, Number One.”

Luther knew better than to argue; he fell silent.

“Where do you think all this stuff’s going?” asked Ben, clearly trying to change the subject.

“I dunno.  ...Dad said it’s a weapon shipment, so maybe to fight a war or something?” guessed Luther with a shrug.

“I might join the navy someday,” mused Klaus, kneeling down to pull one of his knee-high socks that was slipping down.

Diego laughed harshly.  “Are you kidding me? You wouldn’t last a second in the army.”

“I said navy, not army, jerk.”

“Potato, potahtoe.  You wouldn’t last a day,” reiterated Diego.

“Yeah, because I’m not at all used to following orders and wearing a uniform and being around macho pricks like you all the time,” shot back Klaus.

“Hey, hey.”  Luther stepped between them.  “Come on, stop it, guys.”

“I’d rather be a macho prick than a cowardly little sissy.”

“Easy for you to say, monkey-murderer.”

Diego lunged; Luther grabbed him in a bear hug.

A black car drove up and a man stepped out; he frowned.  “What’s all this rough-housing? Are you the Hargreeves children?  I’m here to take you back to your father.”

“We’ll all feel better after we get some sleep,” said Luther, who eased off of Diego without entirely letting go of him.  He and Klaus glared at each other.

“My stomach hurts,” reported Ben.

“Yeah, yeah, what else is new?” grumbled Diego as they piled into the car.  To prevent any fighting, Luther took the middle, resulting in Klaus and Diego crammed against the windows uncomfortably.  Ben sat in the front seat and turned on the radio, but no one seemed interested in listening to it, and halfway back to their hotel room, Allison mentioned that she’d heard a rumor that they were all tired, and everyone ended up sleeping for the rest of the car ride.


	7. Brazil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments make me happy. :) Thanks, everyone.

Their hotel room in São Paulo was on the first floor, two doors down from Reginald’s.  In everyone’s collective memory, they had always shared a hotel room. Most hotel rooms had two beds, forcing them to figure out how to distribute the beds evenly.  In the past, when Five was still with them, they had done it by number: One and Two took a bed, Three and Four took another, and Five and Six were forced to fight over a couch.  (Five always won these arguments; Six was, by nature, passive, and Five was extremely assertive.)

After Five’s disappearance, there had been a single, peaceful year during which Six had taken the couch.  However, one year later, Luther had a growth spurt, and he and Diego began fighting more. Diego, however, didn’t want to bunk with Klaus, who had a habit of spreading eagle when he slept deeply (which was rarely) or waking up screaming (which was often).

New arrangements were made; Allison bunked with Luther and Diego demanded the couch for himself, leaving Ben to bunk with Klaus.  Ben, as usual, didn’t complain, though he often ended up on the floor after Klaus kicked him out so that he could occupy the middle of the bed.

They got to their room just as the sun was rising.  All of them were bleary-eyed and trying to hide their yawns; they had been up for nearly thirty-six hours and it showed.  However, no one wanted to be the first to turn in; sleep deprivation had made them anxious, cranky, and self-conscious.

Their luggage had been left at the foot of their beds, in its usual arrangement: One and Two were the furthest from the door, Three and Four were closest, and Six’s was at the foot of the couch.  Diego and Allison both went to their suitcases to swap places and to check the contents.

Diego dug into his suitcase and pulled out a small, well-loved stuffed octopus.  He let out a derisive scoff. “Mom,” he said.

No one said anything; they all knew they packed their own suitcases, and no one commented when Diego flopped onto the couch, back to the room, hugging his octopus.

Allison flicked on the television while Klaus sprang onto the bed and immediately began jumping violently on it.  Ben whined. “C’mon, at least take your shoes off, Four…!”

“I’m testing it,” said Klaus, bouncing harder.

“Doesn’t take a lot of study to see this isn’t the Ritz,” said Luther, sitting on the end of the far bed, next to Allison.  The mattress sagged noticeably.

“Oh, I bet Dad _hates_ this place,” said Allison with barely concealed delight.

“These arrangements are not suitable,” mimicked Klaus.  His bed made a loud shriek of protest on one of his bounces and he quickly stopped; it was clear the box spring was imminently about to break.  Ben glared at him.

“No way we’re staying here for a whole week.  This hotel is gross,” said Luther as he pulled his sweater over his head.

“Yeah, but if Dad’s expecting another mission--”

“He’ll move us to a nicer place if we have to stay the whole week,” said Luther confidently.

“Yeah, no way Dad is gonna be able to handle it here for a week,” agreed Allison.  "This place doesn't even have a mini-fridge."  She was still scanning through the channels, but everything was in Portuguese; she paused on an episode of Spongebob Squarepants.  At home, they were not allowed to watch cartoons, which Reginald said were pointless and childish.

“This sure isn’t Dubai,” said Klaus, flopping onto the center of his bed.

“Anyone need the bathroom?  I’m going to take a shower,” said Luther, tossing his shorts over the back of a chair.

“All yours, bro,” said Klaus, who had taken the pillow from Ben’s side of the bed to prop himself up and stare at the television.  He had half-opened his suitcase; from it spilled a dream catcher, a hand pendant with an eye in the middle, and a large, red knot. Before night, the wall over his bed would be hung with his charms in an effort to manage his nightmares.  Klaus often underpacked clothes, preferring to borrow from Diego and cram his own suitcase full of various superstitious tokens, none of which appeared to work. Like Diego’s stuffed octopus, no one commented on their appearance on trips away from home.

* * *

They all fell into a light and restless sleep sometime before noon.  The television droned on; Luther and Allison fell asleep on each other, Allison still fully dressed but Luther in his pajamas; Diego hugged his octopus on the couch, curled up into a tight ball; Klaus sprawled out in the center of his bed, forcing Ben into an armchair, where he fell asleep reading Silent Spring.

They woke to the loud, tinny ringing of the phone on the bedside stand.  Klaus woke with a violent spasm and a gasp of “What is it,” knocking over the lamp and the phone.  Luther dove for the phone, waking up Allison, who automatically kicked him in the jaw.

“Ow!  Hello?”

“What’s goin’ on?” asked Diego, sitting bolt upright, octopus in one hand and knife in the other.  His hair had all gotten smashed to one side because he hadn’t used a pillow. In the corner, Ben groaned and clutched his stomach; being startled often disturbed Them and led to disturbing ripples on the surface of his skin, as if They sensed weakness and were eager to break free.

“Shh.  It’s Dad,” reported Luther, covering the speaker of the phone.  “...uh-huh? Yes, sir. ...uh-huh. ...no, sir.” He covered the speaker again.  “We’re all s’posed to be ready to go to some fancy dinner at four with the heads of state and he says Number Two especially needs to look sharp ‘cause he’s acting as our mouthpiece.”

“What about lunch?” whined Klaus.

“What about lu-- oh.  Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dad.  ...bye.” Luther hung up. “He says he’s out meeting with some important people but left the guy at the front desk a hundred reais!”

“That’s like forty dollars,” said Ben, trying to work a crick out of his neck.

“Let’s order crap!” said Klaus excitedly.

“If we ruin our appetites for dinner, Dad’ll be mad at us,” protested Luther.

“Dinner starts at four.  You know how these stupid state things are.  All they’ll have is little finger sandwiches and by the end of the night you’ll be starving,” argued Diego.  “Klaus is right. Let’s order crap.”

“McDonald’s!  McDonald’s!” exclaimed Allison excitedly.

“McDonald’s!” agreed Ben, jumping up.  At home, they rarely got to partake in any sort of fast food; Grace cooked them well-balanced, nutritionally wholesome meals, and they were expected to clean their plates.  They tried to make a point of sneaking out at least a few times a year to gorge on donuts or French fries.

“Alright, fine,” said Luther, who could normally be convinced to bend the rules if there was food involved.  Though Reginald almost universally disapproved of fast food, it wasn’t like he had to know.  (He had taken them out for KFC one time after a mission and since then they made a point of begging to go through drive-through windows after any daytime mission.  These pleas had, thus far, never been successful.)

Luther got up to get dressed; Diego went to the bathroom to try to tame his hair, and Klaus searched through his luggage for a pair of clean socks, sending a crystal ball rolling.

Ben concealed a yawn as they left the room in a tight cluster in their matching school uniforms; Allison covered her mouth, yawning along with him.  They crossed the parking lot of the motel to the front desk and shoved Diego forward. “Hargreeves,” he announced. They all beamed as the man behind the desk handed them an envelope with some foreign currency in it and went outside to count it.

“Where do you think the nearest McDonald’s is?” asked Luther, scanning up and down the block.

“I’ll go up on the roof and see if I see one,” said Diego, turning and jogging toward a set of stairs.  He returned shortly, panting. (Before Five’s disappearance, Five had always been the one to scout ahead for them.)  “...didn’t see one,” he reported.

“How ‘bout an Arby’s?” asked Luther.

“I saw a knock-off 7-Eleven that way,” he said, pointing.

“Is 7-Eleven the one that does Slurpees?”

“Yeah, remember that robbery we did two summers ago when Allison pushed the guy’s head into the machine?”

“Oh, yeah!  Yeah, I always wanted to try one of those.  Let’s go.”

The group of five set off.  Though it was November, the temperature was in the high seventies, and the children looked decidedly over-dressed in their knee-high socks, sweater vests, and jackets.  Klaus paused to roll down his socks, and Diego took off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder instead.

They turned the corner and spotted the 7-Eleven.  It wasn’t called 7-Eleven but had the same color scheme.  A group of five teens was standing outside; two were smoking, and one was sipping a soda.  The Hargreeves tightened their group a little; the other kids were wearing denim pants and t-shirts and smirked a little at the others’ outfits.

“Você não deveria estar na escola?” asked one in a mocking voice.

“Vai pró caralho,” replied Diego as the automatic doors opened and the kids walked in.  Luther and Allison both made a beeline for the slushie machine; Ben and Diego peeled off to look at the candy aisle.  Klaus slipped off to grab some allergy medication.

They regrouped with the natural instinct of children who had always worked as one unit.

“...we’re not buying that,” said Luther, pointing to the three packs of generic antihistamines in Klaus’s hands.

“You wanna sleep tonight?”

“We don’t have enough for it.  All three of those are nearly our whole budget.”

“This is the best deal.  I checked,” said Ben, heaving up a one-gallon tub of Red Vines.

Allison offered him a high-five.

“I wanna try this,” said Diego, holding up a two-liter soda bottle.  It was labeled “Guaraná Antartica” and none of them had heard of that brand before, although, admittedly, they hadn’t heard of most brands of soda because soda, along with anything else that contained caffeine, wasn’t allowed in the house.  Reginald said caffeine was a crutch to stimulate weak minds and none of them had weak minds. The fact that he enjoyed black tea himself was a hypocrisy no one dared bring up.

“Can I get two?” wheedled Klaus.

“No.”

“But we might be here all week and Dad probably won’t give us any more money.”

“...one.  You can get one,” said Luther.  “I’m not giving up soda because you want to pass out at dinner.”

“Fine,” pouted Klaus, turning to return two of the packs to the shelf. 

“Those kids out there are laughing at us,” observed Ben.

“...don’t look at ‘em, Ben.  They’re just jealous because we’re buying a bunch of stuff,” said Allison.  Diego flipped off the kids outside, who were watching them through the window and clearly making fun of their school uniforms.

They walked up to the counter and shoved a pile of candy, chips, and soda at the clerk.  He rung it up dully, then pointed to Klaus. “E o remédio?”

Klaus shifted awkwardly.  “Huh?”

“He wants to know about the medicine,” said Diego.

“I put it on the counter.”

“...the medicine in your pocket, asshole.”

“You _didn’t_ ,” gasped Allison accusingly, turning to look at him.

Klaus considered his situation, then turned and bolted.  The clerk rose, yelling; Luther and Diego moved to block him automatically, used to protecting their brother; they reassured him in both English and Portuguese that they would pay for him.

They gave over all of their money for the two packs Klaus had pocketed, and the two slushies they’d already poured; the rest of the snacks had to be left behind.

Outside, both Klaus and the five loiterers had disappeared.

“I’m gonna kill him,” said Luther calmly, sucking on his straw.  He offered it to Ben; it was understood the slushies would have to be shared now.

“Those other kids chased him that way,” said Diego, pointing down the block.

“We’d better go save him,” said Allison, reluctantly.

“Aw, Klaus can defend himself.”  Diego reached for Allison’s slushie.

“You know he can only disarm three assailants at a time," she said.

“Well, I doubt all five of them were armed.”

“Guys, c’mon, Dad’ll be mad if we lose him,” said Ben uncomfortably.

The four begrudgingly turned in the direction Diego had indicated; sure enough, they found Klaus at the end of an alley, fists up, one knee already bleeding from taking a fall and a large bruise on his left eye.

“Hey!” barked Luther.

The five kids turned, grinning.  They sized up the Hargreeves and snickered; Klaus took their distraction and punched one in the back of the head, hooking the leg of another and bringing him down.  Luther, Allison, and Diego strode down the alley, leaving Ben with the slushies; they gave the loiterers a few good punches that sent them fleeing before Luther walked over and scruffed Klaus by the back of his jacket.

“What the _hell_ , Number Four?” demanded Luther.

“ _I told you I needed it!_ ”

“So you _stole_ it?”

“I woulda gone back and paid for it, somehow!”

Luther and Allison shook their heads in disappointment, and they turned, Luther hauling Klaus back toward the motel.  “Just wait ‘til I tell Dad.”

At this, Klaus went pale.

They returned to the hotel room in bad spirits.  Despite everyone’s annoyance at Klaus, Ben begrudgingly allowed him to have his share of one of the slushies.  They got ready for the dinner mostly in silence; Luther made Klaus hold some ice on his cheek to keep the swelling down, and Diego rustled up a bandage to put on his knee.

When they met Reginald to leave, Reginald either didn’t notice or didn’t care to comment on Klaus’s injuries, and even though Klaus was pale and jittery all night, waiting for Luther to rat him out, Luther never mentioned the incident at the store.

* * *

As they had all suspected, Reginald found their motel accommodations less than satisfactory, and that evening, they returned to a far nicer hotel with a bigger, more luxurious room.  Klaus hung his lucky charms around his half of the bed, took half a pack of his medication, and was sound asleep within thirty minutes. Luther took up residence in the bathroom while Allison flipped on the television; Diego and Ben joined her on her bed to watch.

Diego was in an unusual mood and everyone walked around him on eggshells.  He had spent the whole evening being congratulated by various men on his fast reflexes and a job well-done in protecting the convoy on the way to the airfield.  Usually, Diego soaked up any praise lavished on him like a sponge, particularly anytime it was a man in uniform. But at dinner that night he had been reticent and sullen, shrugging off the approval with the repeated phrase: “Era apenas um macaco.”

It was unclear if he was trying to convince others, or himself.

He sat in sulky silence for the car ride to the hotel; everyone left him alone and Allison raised an eyebrow at Ben when he joined them on the bed to watch TV.  Usually, when Diego was in a foul mood, he preferred space, and everyone was more than happy to acquiesce, because he had a tendency to pick fights to get his frustration out.  All of the Hargreeves had, at one point or another, been on the receiving end of a Diego rage.

Allison and Ben moved over in silent solidarity so Diego could lie on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows and sandwiching Ben between himself and Allison; Allison offered him the remote, and he accepted it, flicking through the channels before finding what appeared to be some sort of cop show.  The three watched with glazed expressions as Portuguese policemen chased a man through a dark neighborhood, yelling.

The switch to commercials was abrupt enough to make them all blink a little; the commercials were colorful, loud, and contrasted jarringly with the show.  The first played uplifting orchestral music and showed a young girl, perhaps nineteen, holding books and smiling as she walked across a campus with some friends, then cut to a concerned-looking professor leaning over her desk and pointing at something.  Diego scrambled to turn down the volume for the ad as the logo of a college flashed across the screen, the orchestral music swelling to an uncomfortably loud volume.

“...you guys ever think about what you wanna do when we grow up?” asked Allison thoughtfully.

“No,” said Ben.

“Fight crime,” said Diego.

“...you never think about, like, the future?”

“Nuh-uh,” said Ben.

“Nope,” said Diego.

“...those kids we saw today are probably going to college.”

“Fat chance.  They were a bunch of punks,” retorted Diego.

“Well, someday, when we graduate from the Academy--”

“We don’t graduate, Allison,” said Ben.

“Maybe Dad’ll update our outfits once we turn eighteen,” suggested Diego.

Allison frowned.  “But we could do something else.”

“Maybe _you_ could.  With _your_ powers, you could do anything.  But what’re me and Ben gonna do, huh?” demanded Diego, an edge creeping into his voice. 

Ben looked down; his silence spoke volumes. 

Without another word, Diego stood up, stormed off to the bathroom door, and pounded on it.  “ONE, HURRY UP!” he yelled.

“Just a sec!”

Diego banged his fist on the door again.

“I said gimme a minute!”

“You’ve already been in there for fifteen minutes!  Stop jerking off and lemme in!”

“Go away, Two!”

Diego banged on the door.

“Quit it!”

Diego banged harder.

Ben clamped his hands over his ears; sure enough, after several long seconds of Diego pounding on the door, Luther exploded out of the bathroom, and he and Diego fell to the floor in a tussle, wrestling each other with just enough force to possibly accidentally injure each other but to claim deniability later if it happened.

“I heard a rumor Dad’s coming!” yelled Allison.

The two quickly untangled and pulled apart, rising, looking guiltily at the door and trying to appear nonchalant.  After a few beats, Luther turned to Allison and jabbed a finger at her. “Don’t do that.”

“Stop fighting; you’re upsetting Ben!”  (Ben had his hands over his ears and his eyes squeezed shut.)

“After you, Number Two,” sneered Luther, stepping aside and gesturing dramatically to the bathroom.

Diego walked past him, knocking his shoulder very purposefully on the way, and slammed the door.  Allison rubbed Ben’s back comfortingly and glared at Luther.

That night, Allison and Ben took a bed, and Luther slept alone in the other bed.  He moved Klaus to the floor, reasoning to everyone that Klaus was gone to the world for the next eight hours and wouldn’t care anyway.  Because he was unconscious, he made an easy scapegoat, and everyone agreed that their tensions were running high because of the shoplifting incident in the store earlier.  No one wanted to admit that having the other kids tease them had hurt.


	8. Life Under the Umbrella

Reginald tended to dispense information on a need-to-know basis, and it was not unusual to be taken to some remote, exotic location, placed into a hotel room, and told to wait further instruction.  The Hargreeves had been taken to locations before when no mission ever presented itself and after a few days of waiting for some emergency call, they were shuttled back home without explanation. They did not resent these strange breaks in their routine.  Indeed, they basked in them. The Academy was run on a strict schedule and there were no breaks except for a few major holidays; they had never had a summer off and hadn’t even known other kids got them until they were nearly ten.

For the Hargreeves, “vacations” were the times spent away from their home, either because they were awaiting a mission or sometimes because they had to attend a scientific conference or a press junket.  Reginald was happy to parade them around to the media as well as to the research community, though access to them was tightly controlled; as their guardian, he said, he had a solemn duty to protect them.  It was impossible not to let a little bit of the fame go to their heads, of course. After all, they’d seen themselves on TV and magazine covers, and they found that the press, unlike Reginald, was more than happy to indulge them as children in the hopes of getting more story to work with.

Excursions away from home felt similarly indulgent.  Without their usual strict, structured lives, without training or schoolwork, they lounged around in their hotel room watching TV and emptying the mini-fridge of its contents.  Sometimes they dared to order room service (mostly desserts), knowing that it was unlikely Reginald would care to comment so long as they didn’t charge more than a hundred dollars.  (The current record was just shy of $200; Luther and Ben had had an ice cream-eating contest. Ben had won, though Luther staunchly refused to accept defeat because he claimed that using Them was cheating, and the fact that Ben's tentacles had also swallowed the silverware, bowls, and coffee table should negate the fact that the ice cream had disappeared.)

Normally they would go out and explore the city in their strange, tight, matching pack, but they didn’t while they were in Brazil.  Perhaps because it was too hot; perhaps because of the disastrous excursion to the convenience store. In any case, they spent the five days following the escort mission in their room, playing card games, building pillow forts, watching TV, and eating sundaes.  Reginald told them to pack up abruptly and with little fanfare; they did so dutifully and flew home.

After big missions, there were often small crowds of fans waving signs, cheering, or offering up posters and markers for them to sign them with.  But this had been a covert mission and they flew home without any disturbance from the public.

“Welcome home, Master Luther, Miss Allison,” Pogo greeted them as they opened the heavy front door of the mansion into the cavernous main hall.  Luther was holding both his and Allison’s bags. “Hello, Master Diego. May I take your bags, Master Reginald? Hello, Master Klaus, Master Ben.”

“Hey Pogo,” they said in sync.

“Hello, children!  Hello, dear,” said Grace sweeping in and kissing Allison on the head.

“Put away your things.  It is too late for you to resume your studies today, so the lot of you may retire to the lounge for reflection time until dinner.  Number Six, come with me; we can still salvage a day’s training!” commanded Reginald.

“Okay, Dad,” sighed Ben, handing off his luggage to Diego, who handed it off to Allison.  He trudged after Reginald while the rest of them dispersed to unpack.

Vanya hovered at the top of the stairs, watching them.

“Sorry.  No change,” said Luther.

She nodded quietly.  “I can unpack Ben’s stuff,” she offered.

“It’s okay, I got it,” said Allison.

When Reginald gave them pocket money on their journeys, they always brought home the change for Vanya as a souvenir.  She had a jar of foreign currency on her bedside stand, a monument to all the places she’d never been. However, Luther had given the convenience store clerk all forty of their reais in an effort to placate him after Klaus had stolen the allergy medication, not wanting him to call the cops on them.

The convenience store incident was one of many collective memories that the Hargreeves children might have called “formative” had they ever paused to reflect on it.  Most of their formative shared memories were made outside the walls of the Academy, which was a stifling place of rules and time schedules and nothing interesting ever happened as far as they were concerned.  As they grew older and began to go on more and more missions, they had more and more experiences, ones that Vanya was not privy to. Early on, Three and Five had tried to debrief her, keep her “in the know.” But missions could be emotionally exhaustive and no one wanted to talk about the convenience store, so they ignored Vanya, who took a hint and retreated to her room.

Happy to enjoy some rare, unstructured time, Klaus went to draw a bath while Diego managed to nag Luther into playing a game of darts with him.  Klaus always took baths instead of showers because if he accidentally summoned a ghost in the shower, he was liable to slip; he had broken as many ribs as curtain rods in a startled panic to get away from one that showed up unexpectedly.  All of the Hargreeves children had seen Klaus running naked and wet down the hall with suds still in his hair; this was not considered a formative collective memory because it was a frequent and normal occurrence.

“Mom, do we have any envelopes?” called Allison.

“Of course we do, dear.  What do you need them for?” asked Grace, appearing in the doorway of her room.

Allison looked up from her desk; she had gotten Pogo to get her a phone book and was looking through the yellow pages.  “I wanted to write some letters.”

“How many stamps?” asked Grace placidly.  Grace was usually placid with most requests and rarely had anything less than a radiant smile on her face.

“...maybe three or four?” ventured Allison.

“Okay.  I’ll bring you up some juice, too.  You look thirsty,” said Grace, turning and sweeping away.  She returned carrying a tray of juice and distributed to the kids, admonishing them gently to remember to put away their things as Reginald had instructed.  All four had by the time the bell rang for dinner, except, of course, Ben. His suitcase had been placed on his bed by Allison and then forgotten, though Vanya gave it a glare when she passed by Ben’s open room on her way to dinner.

* * *

Ben arrived to dinner with a splatter of red blood still on the collar of his shirt and a decidedly ruffled appearance.  He picked at his food (ravioli Florentine) listlessly while they listened to a none-too-appetizing record on emergency first aid, medical symptoms, and recognizing symptoms of shock.

“...still darker urine signifies further dehydration, though an orange tint, mixed with blood in the stool, may be an indication of a disorder of the bile ducts,” droned the record.

Klaus passed a note to Diego; it was labeled “6.”  Diego passed it along to Ben, who unfolded it, scribbled back to him, and palmed it back.

“A dark tan or brown may be an indication of porphyria.  Porphyrins are essential for the function of hemoglobin — a protein in your red blood cells that binds to iron, in turn allowing the red blood cells to carries oxygen to your organs and tissues.”

Allison passed Luther the salt.  He accidentally knocked it over; Klaus immediately pinched some and threw it over his shoulder, nearly hitting Pogo, who was walking past to deliver a saucer of tea to Reginald.  Reginald always sat at the head of the table for dinner. His rules required the children to wait for instructions to sit, to be excused, and to speak. (Without permission, there was no talking, since lessons were delivered during dinner.)  However, so long as they minded their table manners and cleaned their plates, he often let them pass notes or even read at the table.

Klaus looked down at the note, frowned, then peered down the table to mouth _“Really?”_ at Ben.

Ben shrugged.  Klaus penned a new note furiously and tossed it onto Diego’s lap.  He handed it to Ben. Ben unfolded it, read it, then looked up to mouth _“Pen?”_ at Klaus.  Klaus relayed the pen to him through Diego.

“While urine may be used to diagnose porphyria of the liver, it is important to remember that protoporphyria, which arises in the bone marrow, produces normal-colored urine.  This is a reminder that not all diagnostic criteria may fit under a single umbrella.”

Ben passed a note to Allison across the table.  She dropped her fork.

“Manners, Number Three,” said Reginald sharply as she quickly hid the note in her lap. 

The note moved back to Klaus through Luther, than back to Ben through Diego.  Ben handed it off to Vanya, who began to open it; Diego kicked her under the table and pointed to Allison.

Whenever Reginald looked up, all of them made sure their postures were erect, their elbows were off the table, and the corners of their mouths were neatly dabbed at with their cloth napkins.

“May I be excused?” asked Vanya, pushing away her half-eaten dinner.

Reginald didn’t look up.  “Very well.”

She rose and walked off.  Allison gave Diego a questioning glare; he shrugged; the note passed back to Klaus, who suppressed a laugh at its contents and accidentally choked on his drink, prompting a bout of coughing that earned him a sharp reprimand from Reginald.

* * *

“Pugilism should always be a last resort,” said Reginald, almost conversationally, as Allison and Diego squared off on the gym mats.  Luther leaned against the wall, arms crossed; Ben sat at his feet, pressing a cold compress to Klaus’s eye. Klaus had taken a solid punch from Allison earlier and it was swelling into a fairly impressive bruise.

They were all dressed in matching gym uniforms, and had been boxing with each other for the better part of an hour for their Tuesday afternoon training.

“Ideally you should never place yourselves in a position that is compromised; your assailants should never have the opportunity to return your blows.”

Allison swung; Diego ducked and went in for a quick stomach jab.  She uppercut his jaw and followed it with a few jabs to the groin; Diego fell to the ground with a groan.  “Cheater!” he gasped, hands between his legs.

“In close combat, Number Two, you should expect anything; your enemies will have no regard for your sense of fairness,” said Reginald.  “Number One, rotate in!”

Luther pushed off the wall reluctantly and squared up to Allison on the mat, putting up his fists.  Diego hobbled over to Ben and Klaus. Ben looked at him slyly. “I’m not holding any ice on you,” he said.

“Aw, screw you,” grumbled Diego, his face still twisted in pain while he clutched between his legs.

They watched Luther and Allison swing at each other.

“You’re holding back, Number One!  You cannot hesitate; you cannot let your own emotions or sympathy stop you from protecting yourself.  Remember, the rest of your siblings are relying on you, also!”

“Hit her, One!” called Diego.  “Knock her teeth out!”

“Blood!  Blood!” chanted Klaus.

Ben let out a sudden, violent gasp, rising suddenly and dropping the ice pack from Klaus’s face into his lap.  He ran across the gym and just barely made it to the trashcan to vomit; a single tentacle whipped out and knocked the bin from his hands lazily, almost casually, splattering sick against a mirror on the wall.

Everyone turned to look over; he turned back, wiping his mouth, his shirt torn open.  His stomach was rippling visibly. “Sorry, guys,” he said.

“Pause,” commanded Reginald to Luther and Allison, walking over to Ben.  He crouched and leaned in to observe Ben’s abdomen, his brow furrowing over his monocle with a familiar expression of study.

“I’ve got Them under control.  I’m sorry I interrupted,” said Ben.

“Number Four, fetch Pogo to clean up this mess.  ...class is dismissed. Number Six, come with me to the medical wing,” said Reginald, straightening.

“Can we come with?” asked Luther.

“Very well, if you stay out of the way.”

The teens filed after Reginald and Ben to the medical wing.  The mansion had almost thirty thousand square feet and included its own private medical wing, where all of the children received treatment for various ailments: everything from chicken pox (they’d all caught it together at the age of four) to broken bones (Klaus was the most accident-prone) to injuries incurred on missions (Diego had received an impressive scar over his left eye during a jewel heist and nearly lost it, though Grace had managed saved the eye, leaving a large nick in one of his eyebrows).

Though the medial wing was used for palliative care, it was also often a place Reginald dragged them to poke and prod for his own curiosity, making notes by hand in a heavy leather-bound journal.  Everyone disliked the medical wing because going there often meant sitting around for a long period of time in your underwear with electrodes on your head while Reginald asked a relentless barrage of questions.

Ben sat on a medical table in the middle of the room; Klaus opened a cabinet and peeked in.  Luther shot him a disapproving look. “I’m looking for ice,” Klaus defended himself.

He found a cold compress for his eye and took it, but even if he was telling the truth, Pogo materialized to keep an eye on him.  The medical wing was usually locked to prevent Klaus from sneaking in and taking any pain killers.

“What would you say prompted the expression of your abilities?  Was it the Eldritch creatures responding to the environment, or your own emotional response to the environment that summoned them?” asked Reginald.  Ben had stripped off his shirt and Reginald had donned a stethoscope.

“I don’t know,” said Ben honestly as Reginald pressed the cold circle to his chest.  “It just happened.”

“But what was the trigger, Six?  Was it Number Four’s mention of blood?”

“I don’t think so.”

Allison moved to Ben’s other side, taking his hand gently. 

Reginald ignored the other children, still badgering Ben.  “Was it witnessing violence? Was it Number Two’s defeat?” (Diego scowled.)

“...I don’t know,” said Ben helplessly as Reginald tilted his head up to shine a pen light in his eyes.  The movements across the surface of his skin had stopped and he looked like a perfectly normal seventeen-year-old.

“Perhaps it was the mention of blood?” repeated Reginald.

“...maybe?” said Ben.

“One, come here,” demanded Reginald.

Luther walked over.

“Present your hand.”

Luther stuck his hand out.  Reginald pulled out a large needle and gave his finger a swift prick.

Diego promptly passed out.  He had harbored a deep fear of needles ever since they’d all gotten matching tattoos back when they were eleven.  Reginald frowned in disapproval and Allison let go of Ben’s hand to drag his inert body out of the way.

Reginald shoved Luther’s hand in Ben’s face.  “Any reaction?” he asked. A bead of blood trailed lazily down Luther’s palm and continued its path down his wrist.

“...no,” reported Ben.

“Did you know there’s an animal called a fainting goat that passes out if you scare it just like Diego?” asked Klaus gently.  (Ben was fond of animals.)

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

“Nothing at all?” said Reginald, who seemed incredulous that Ben’s strange reaction in the gym had been an isolated incident and couldn’t be recreated.

“Sorry, Dad.”

Reginald made no attempt to hide his annoyance that Ben couldn’t explain the small, brief incident in the gym.

“...Mommy?” slurred Diego weakly from the corner.

“Go put a bandage on your finger, Number One,” said Reginald.  Luther obediently went to wipe away the blood from his hand and find a Band-Aid to place on his index finger.  Allison took Ben’s hand again and rubbed her thumb against his skin while Reginald took his blood pressure, tested his reflexes, made him breathe into a peak flow meter, and peeled back an eyelid.  But everything was normal. It was as if the incident in the gym had never happened.

Usually, Ben’s powers were an all-or-nothing event.  Usually. The rare occasions when he could control Them, or when it was only a small, uneventful eruption, were ironically the ones that most fascinated Reginald.  For years he’d been trying to get Ben to harness his powers better. Currently, the only thing Ben could truly guarantee was that he didn’t hurt his siblings in the process of unleashing Them.  But the same could not be said for bystanders, and earlier in life, he’d dispatched two nannies and broken Pogo’s arm, giving him the dubious honor of being the first of them to ever kill anyone.

Ben’s exam lasted long enough that they missed snack time, but Diego also got out of private training.  (It was just as well; he had smacked his head on the floor when he passed out and seemed slightly woozy from it.)

Eventually Reginald, with undisguised disappointment, told Ben he could put his shirt back on.  The event was over and there was no explanation, and it was as if it had never happened in the first place.

“May I go to the library?” asked Ben as he pulled his gym sweatshirt back over his head.

“Yes, dismissed,” said Reginald, back to him as he scribbling notes in one of his journals.

Ben hopped off of the bench and the children walked out together.  Even though their afternoon training had been cut short, all of them bore marks; Allison’s knuckles and Klaus’s face were swollen, Luther’s hand was bandaged, and Ben was still a little shaky from vomiting.  As for Diego, everyone knew the signs of concussion when they saw one, and they were quiet that evening during reflection time while Diego napped on the couch in the lounge.

* * *

That Sunday they had an interview with a teen magazine.  Interviews were always fun because they were a change of scenery.  Reginald could not stand “fluff” pieces (though recognized the importance of maintaining the Umbrella Academy’s positive PR) and often sent them with Pogo as a chaperone.  Pogo kept an eye on them but gave them more freedom to accept snacks, goof off, and act like kids.

Wearing their standard school uniforms as well as the domino masks they reserved for public appearances, that afternoon they drove to an office building downtown and were escorted into an elevator by a stylish young man in a flannel shirt, a fair bit of scruff, and a pair of dark-rimmed glasses.

“Hey, guys!  Thanks for coming to see us today.  We’re really excited to have you,” he said.  “I’m Jeremy, and today you’ll be sitting down with me and Fiona.  Do you guys need any water, or soda or anything?”

Everyone immediately perked up at the mention of a forbidden snack.  They all asked for Coke, the first brand they could think of, and Jeremy showed them into a comfortable room where they’d be giving the interview.  It was a standard room and pictures would be taken, and they settled onto couches amid fake plants and spotlights with the ease of a group that had done this plenty of times before.

“Oh my God, he’s cute!” whispered Allison.

“I knooow!” agreed Klaus.  “His freakin’ beard?”

“So cute!”

“He’s probably like thirty,” grumbled Luther, crossing his arms

Jeremy returned with a bowl full of ice, cans of soda nestled in it.  There were Cokes but also other brands; Klaus grabbed a Dr. Pepper, and Ben grabbed a Squirt.

“So!  What’s going on, guys?” asked Jeremy, sitting in a couch across from them and putting his elbows on his knees.  A few make-up artists descended on them to pat powder puffs on their faces.

“Not much,” said Luther, speaking for all of them as he sipped his Coke.  “I think Diego might be a little backlit.” He tilted his chin up; he had developed a small smattering of acne and was rather self-conscious about it.  It disappeared beneath a dab of concealer.

“You’re right,” agreed Jeremy, snapping his fingers.  “Where’s Emma? Emma, can we move this light over here?  ...so we have microphones for all you guys, and we’re going to put the recording up on the website.  Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” said Luther.

“I can move it,” said Diego, getting up to help another person move one of the lights away from the couch.

“Great!  Let’s get those clipped on.  The battery packs should be all charged, so you can just clip those to your belts and leave them alone.  ...do you guys want to take off your masks, or…?”

“No, it’s okay,” said Luther.  They never took their masks off in public appearances.  Reginald said it was to protect their identities. From what, or whom, was unclear, but no one had ever thought to ask.

They allowed microphones to be clipped to their jackets.  Luther took another Coke. Their second interviewer, Fiona, appeared, and sat on the couch with Jeremy.  The five kids had managed to occupy one couch, in part because it would make for better pictures. They no longer sat in “order” because it didn’t look right.  Now, Luther and Diego acted as bookends, and Allison, the only girl, took the middle.

“Any of you guys read _Teen Undisclosed_?” asked Jeremy.

“No,” said Luther. 

“Well, sometimes,” supplied Allison.  They weren’t really allowed celebrity magazines because they weren’t educational but Allison often used her spending money on teen gossip magazines anyway, especially ones they were featured in.  No one had ever commented on the glossy pages stuck to the walls of her room; apparently, magazines were not as forbidden as they’d been led to believe. Once Allison tore out interviews and posters, she often gave her magazines to Klaus, who had a fondness for make-up tips and quizzes.

“Aw, well, we’ll definitely get you hooked up with some copies, if you like,” said Jeremy.  Allison smiled at him. Luther’s leg jiggled a little in annoyance.

“So, we’re just going to do this really casually, okay?  If you guys have any stories for us, feel free to share them.  It’s Sunday, so we’re not going to work too hard,” said Fiona.

“Great,” said Luther, who, like the others, had never found any interviews to be hard work.

“This is Bianca, our photographer.  She’ll be taking stills while we rap, okay?”

Bianca waved at them, standing behind Jeremy and Fiona’s couch.  The children all smiled when she raised the camera and snapped a shot of them.

“So let’s get right into it.  You guys were all born as part of The Phenomenon, right?”

“That’s right,” said Luther.

“And you’ve been living in Argygle your whole lives, ever since Reginald Hargreeves adopted you?  How do you like it?”

“We love Argygle.  It’s a great city,” said Diego. 

“What’s your favorite thing to do here?”

“Well, the public library is amazing, and the skating ring down at the park is great, too,” said Allison.  This was largely a lie. Though all of them had visited the library and the park, their favorite places were bowling alleys, crappy donut shops, and small independently-owned record stores.  But they were expected to talk about the public works of the city. Besides, none of them wanted fans coming to nag them at Griddy’s.

“Skating, huh?  I bet you guys are all phenomenal at sports.”

“Well, we’re not bad… ‘cept Diego,” said Klaus.  Everyone chuckled and Diego leaned over to give Klaus a playful punch on the shoulder.  Bianca took some photos of their friendly rough housing. From the door, Pogo nodded approvingly, hands on his cane.

“What other hobbies, huh?  Do you think being members of the Umbrella Academy has helped you shape any unique interests or hobbies that other kids your age might not have?”

“Naw,” said Ben.  “We’re actually mostly just normal kids.  We like music and reading and sports and stuff.”

“Well, we do get to try a lot of different stuff, and we travel a lot for missions,” amended Luther.

“We’re really lucky in that regard.  We get to see the world. It’s great,” said Diego.

“Where’s the coolest place you ever visited?” asked Fiona.

“I really liked India!  The clothing there is so cool and colorful,” said Allison.  “I definitely like getting to experience other cultures. Yeah, travel is definitely a huge interest of all of us.  Our last two missions were to Japan, and Brazil.”

“We’re all crossing our fingers for Hawaii next!” said Klaus.  They all laughed.

“It’s really amazing you guys are able to balance school with all these missions you go on,” prompted Jeremy.

“Oh, it’s not really that hard.  Besides, going to other countries and stuff can be educational itself,” said Ben.  He had fallen further behind in algebra. “Plus, we all help each other out.”

“Lemme ask you guys a tough one.  Do you have best friends? Like, if you had to pick--” said Jeremy.

“Oh, no, we’re all best friends,” said Luther.  (His was Pogo and he’d said as much to Diego last week during a fight.)  “We get along with pretty much everyone. And it’s great when we get to meet other kids.  We’re actually probably pretty disappointing, because we’re so normal.”

Everyone tittered.  Allison reached for a Squirt.

“So you guys get to hang out with other kids, outside of the Academy?” asked Fiona.

“Oh, sure.  We have plenty of time to socialize,” said Diego.  “It’s actually nice because when you’re around your siblings all the time, you get used to them… me and Luther always get stalemate in chess because we know all of each other’s moves by now.”

“That sounds about right!” laughed Jeremy pleasantly.  “So… anyone special? Girlfriends? Boyfriend?” he asked to Allison.  She blushed.

“We’re-- we’re just mostly focused on school and stuff right now,” she said.  Pogo frowned a little.

“Well, none of us have anyone serious right now,” said Klaus. 

“I bet our readers and listeners are going to be excited to hear that!” joked Fiona.

There was a strange, uncomfortable beat.  It was Ben’s turn to speak but he appeared to have nothing more to contribute to this line of questioning.  Queries about their romantic lives had started cropping up in the last few years but none of them had ever even had their first kiss yet and they never quite knew how to say they didn’t date because who would they date, anyway, and when, and how?  It was more than impractical; it was an impossibility.

“Maybe you’ll meet someone special soon?  ...any college plans?” prompted Jeremy.

“Yes,” said Allison.

Ben, Luther, and Diego all turned to stare at her in shock for speaking out of turn.

“Oh, yeah?  What’re you planning to study?”

“...maybe theater?  Or business? I don’t know yet, but you don’t have to declare your major in the first year,” said Allison.  “I applied to Argyle City College, UCLA, and Tulane. I think I’d like to go to California most.”

“Wow.  Those are all great schools.  Well, good luck. I hope you get in!” said Jeremy.  “Did you all apply for the same schools?”

They all looked at each other, dumbfounded, not knowing how to respond, nor even who was supposed to speak next since Allison had messed up their order.  They looked over at Pogo, who was standing by the door with an equal look of surprise. He nodded to Ben.

“It’s still really early and we don’t have any plans set in stone, yet,” said Ben.  “We’re only seventeen.”

“But you all probably have some idea of what you want to do when you grow up, right?”

“Fight crime,” said Diego.

Luther craned his neck to stare at him from the other end of the couch, clearly annoyed his turn had been skipped.

Fiona laughed.  “Well, you certainly have a lot of experience with that, huh?”

“It would be irresponsible not to use our powers to protect people,” said Diego, glaring daggers at Allison.  She glared back.

Pogo coughed, loudly.

“What a great attitude.  Do you like having your powers, or do you ever feel like that’s a lot of responsibility?” asked Jeremy.

“Well, responsibility isn’t a bad thing,” said Klaus.  “We all got our learner’s permits and we _love_ that responsibility!”  Everyone laughed.

All of them had been driving since they were old enough to reach the pedals; it was a necessary part of their training, just like tying a tourniquet or taking the safety off of a handgun.  None of them knew what the hell a learner's permit was, but they'd been asked about it by several interviewers.  Reginald told them they'd received theirs in the mail and were free to talk about being proud of it to the press, so they'd mentioned it a few times, and it always seemed to delight people for some reason.

“Everyone’s born with different talents.  I don’t think using those talents to help the world is a burden at all,” said Ben.

“Our abilities make us who we are.  We wouldn’t trade that for the world,” said Luther.  “Besides, it brought us all together as a family.”

“Aww,” said Jeremy and Fiona as the kids hugged.  Bianca took several pictures.

“You know, I was a little nervous to meet you… but you seem really down-to-earth,” commented Fiona.  “You really are just like normal kids, huh?”

“Oh, totally,” said Diego, nodding.  “Outside of all the superhero stuff, our lives are mostly pretty normal... and we really owe the Academy for everything it’s done for us.”


	9. Final Exams and Christmastime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, it's been a while since I updated. Sorry. The next update will be far faster and will involve a run-in with Dr. Terminal. We've had enough fluffy day-to-day life stuff... it's time to watch the kids fight crime! Stay tuned for future missions against the Entropy Institute, the Chaos Bandit Brothers, and The Post-Man.

On the ride back from their interview with Teen Undisclosed, they begged Pogo to let them go through a McDonald’s drive-through, since the interview had run late (their photographer, Bianca, wanted more shots of them individually) and they had missed snacktime.  The fact that they had each had three sodas over the course of the interview was not mentioned.

Luther drove, since Pogo couldn’t reach the pedals.  Pogo relented and they all cheered as they went through a drive-through window and ordered fries and shakes.

After the interview, there had been a briefly hissed conversation on the way to the car.  Luther, Diego, Klaus, and Ben were all furious that Allison had been researching colleges and apparently going so far as to apply to them without telling them.  The children had always operated as a unit and the idea of one of them going somewhere without the others, somewhere distant and for up to four years, terrified them, though none of them would admit that.

Allison defended herself by saying she was only messing around and obviously would _never_ actually do anything or go anywhere without letting them all know.  Pogo gave her several knowing looks; they all knew the real reason her ventures had been in private was because Reginald would not approve.

Pogo might have been Reginald’s primary servant, but he did possess a soft spot, and it didn’t appear as though he intended to rat Allison out.  Reginald did not read their “fluff” interviews and so it was unlikely he’d find out. Pogo’s reluctant agreement to let them get fast food served as yet another indication he was on their side, at least so long as it wasn’t in immediate and direct conflict with a verbal order from Reginald.  Just in case, though, Allison heard a rumor that no one asked about colleges during the interview, and the subject was immediately dropped.

They drove home in high spirits, Allison’s small betrayal forgotten; everyone was fully invested in bags full of chicken McNuggets, instead.  They walked into the grand foyer of their home to find Reginald, Grace, and Vanya waiting for them.

“How was the interview?” demanded Reginald.

“Great,” said Luther.  “...sorry it went long.”

“No matter.  The citizens of the world need to understand that you’re keeping their interests in mind.  We can still have a brief lesson in firearms,” he said.

“Wait, but we need to eat,” protested Klaus, holding up a bag of fries.

“Snacktime is over, Number Four, and you are late for the evening’s lesson.  Grace?”

Grace passed around a waste bin and they all threw their bags of uneaten fried food away.  Vanya had the decency to look sympathetic, even though they’d all forgotten to get her anything.

* * *

They had all squirreled away their birthday money and still not spent it.  With Christmas fast approaching, they were disinclined to want to, preferring to drop extremely obvious hints to Reginald, Pogo, and Grace about the sort of things they might like, adding that cash was always king and they understood if Reginald was too busy to select six individual gifts on his own.

When their magazine interview was released, they all walked down to the corner store (after telling Reginald they were going to the library) to read it.  The front page showed a picture of the five of them on the couch, grinning and hugging.

 _“The Umbrella Academy is full of surprises… perhaps the biggest one of all is that they’re normal teens,”_ read Allison, beaming.

“This is _so_ going up on my wall,” said Klaus, unfolding a poster of Diego in the center of the magazine.

“Ugh, we have to buy five copies to get all the posters?  That is so lame. I thought Jeremy said he’d send us all copies?”

“We should have Mom call him and remind him.  We shouldn’t have to pay for our own stuff.”

“Hey!  Are you kids going to buy anything?  This isn’t a library!” called the clerk.

“Okay, okay.”  Klaus went to go get some Claritin.  “Let’s at least get one to take home,” he added when he returned.

“Find one with me in it,” said Allison.  They all checked the centerfold posters until they found a copy with Allison (her superhero name, “RUMOR,” was emblazoned across the bottom of the poster, and she was smiling coyly at the camera, a finger to her lips), then bought the medicine and the magazine.  Klaus opened the bottle and shook a handful of pills into his mouth as they exited.

A group of kids with backpacks was loitering outside; they stopped and did a double-take as the Hargreeves passed.

“Hey!  Aren’t you those Umbrella kids with superpowers?”

Everyone fumbled to put on their domino masks automatically.

“Yeah,” said Luther, tightening marginally.  One of the kids was smoking and it was oddly reminiscent of Brazil; everyone was ready to get made fun of for their school uniforms.

But the Argygle students seemed excited to meet them.

“Wow!  Cool! I saw you guys on TV a few weeks ago.  Can you really flip over a car?”

“...well, a small car, yeah,” said Luther, relaxing.

“Can you pick me up?”

“...okay,” he agreed after a moment, picking up one of the kids with ease.  She laughed; her two friends grinned, clapping as Luther put her on his shoulder.

“This is so cool!” she said, hugging Luther’s head. 

“Wow!  Is that a real tattoo?” asked the kid who was smoking, pointing to Luther’s forearm.  His jacket had pulled back a little when he reached up to hold the girl on his shoulder in place.

“Yeah, we all got one,” said Allison, pulling up her sleeve to show off hers.

“Whoa.  How did you convince your dad to let you get tattoos?” he asked.

“...Dad chose the tattoos,” said Allison, brow furrowing in confusion at his question.

“Wanna smoke?” he offered, holding out a pack of cigarettes.

Everyone hesitated.  They rarely got one-on-one interactions like these with kids their age.

Klaus reached out to take the pack and took out a cigarette.  Ben gave him a disapproving glare and Diego shook his head a little, but Klaus had the determined look of someone who was not going to be dissuaded.

One of the other boys eagerly lit it for him; Klaus inhaled, then coughed.

“So do you guys live around here?”

“Yeah,” said Luther, setting down the giggling girl. 

“You should come to the arcade on Elm street sometime.  That’s where we all hang out after school.”

It was Friday, Five’s training day.  Since Five was gone, Fridays were used as a free time to make up for any missed trainings or extra special inspections.  Reginald always filled Five’s slot with something and it was rare they got to leave the house. Today had been an exception.

“Maybe sometime,” said Luther, while Klaus coughed harder.

“We have to go home now,” said Allison.

“Wait, wait!  Sign my binder first!”

They all passed around a few articles to be signed in black marker: Spaceboy, Kraken, Rumor, Séance, and Horror.

They walked home, Klaus still smoking, taking off their domino masks after they had rounded the corner.

“If Pogo smells that you’re gonna get in so much trouble,” warned Ben.

Klaus looked worried.  “I’ll take a bath when I get in,” he said, throwing the cigarette into the gutter.

“Pogo has a really good sense of smell.”

“...okay, okay, I was trying to look cool!”

“We’re already cool.  We’re the Umbrella Academy.”

When they got home, Allison went to her room to hang up the poster of herself, and Ben agreed to distract Pogo while Klaus slipped upstairs to throw his clothes into the hamper and wash away evidence of his smoking.

* * *

The names the children signed for people had come about organically.  They had all been raised by number for the first decade of their life, but had eagerly adopted the superhero names given to them by the media, and later, the “normal” names given to them by Grace.

Within the first year of their going on public missions, the media had begun attempting to name them, finding Reginald’s insistence on using their numbers to be extremely confusing.  Rumor, Séance, and Horror had come about organically, with mild variations depending on region or publication; Klaus had been called Ouija, for example, and Horror had been called Nightmare.  But eventually they got their nicknames, which pre-dated their “real” names, and happily used them in lieu of their numbers in public, though within the walls of their home, they continued to use their numbers.  (Before his disappearance, Five had been dubbed “Vanish.”)

Luther and Diego’s nicknames had a unique history.  Luther had originally been set up to be named either “The Athlete” or “The Golden Boy,” neither of which he liked.  Diego had been “The Knife,” which he complained was unoriginal and stupid.

In 2002, at the age of twelve, they had been invited on to Sesame Street for a segment about Stranger Danger.  They had been surprised to learn it was a children’s show, having done Dateline a week ago, but reasoned that they could teach kids good lessons and that they were good role models.

One had looked over the script, which called him “Golden Boy.”

“I hate this name.  ...what if I wanna dye my hair someday?” he demanded in annoyance.  “I want a new name. ...how ‘bout, like… Spaceboy?”

“That’s dumb,” said Four immediately.  “You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you watched Apollo 13 last month when we were in Budapest.”

“No!  It’s ‘cause I jump around, through space and stuff.”

“That’s what Five does,” corrected Three.

“No, I jump _between_ spaces.  One jumps _through_ spaces,” said Five.

“I’ll call you Spaceboy,” said Two.  “...if you call me Stegosaurus.”

“Stegosaurus?” repeated Five, turning to stare at him.

“...better than The Knife.”

“Stabosaurus,” suggested Four.

“No one is calling Two Stegosaurus,” said Five, rolling his eyes dramatically.  “First of all, it’s too long, and so the media won’t use it. Most reporters won’t be able to even spell it.”

“Fine, how ‘bout Kraken?”

“Yeah, Kraken’s pretty cool,” said One.

“I feel like Kraken would fit me better,” said Six.

“You’re already Horror,” said Three.

“...I _hate_ that name.”

“So you’ll call me Spaceboy to the press if I call you Kraken?” asked One.

“Yeah,” said Two.  The two spit in their hands and shook on it.  Later, in press releases, they made a point of emphasizing their new names, and the press got wise to it.

Now on the cusp of legal adulthood, Luther had asked everyone to start calling him “Spaceman,” but no one wanted to.  Luther had argued that it was unfair that he should be stuck with a name he came up with when he was twelve; after all, he pointed out, Diego had very nearly ended up being called “Stegosaurus.”

* * *

Reginald operated the Academy in many ways like a school, dividing the year into trimesters.  As they edged into December, he began giving them their final exams. These covered a broad variety of subjects, everything from a written physics exam to a demonstration on getting oneself out of the trunk of a car while handcuffed.  Reflection time, often the only “free” period they had, turned into a frantic study hall; Luther began spending more and more time in the chemistry lab on the third floor, panicking over his inability to comprehend stoichiometry, while Ben took up residence in Vanya’s room, struggling through pages and pages of algebra problems.  Diego coached Klaus in hand-to-hand combat while Allison stayed up late at night, hiding a flashlight under the covers to read up on tips for managing hostage negotiations. In the Hargreeves household, typical schoolwork and “superhero skills” ran in parallel, and no one thought it strange that English literature was taught alongside a class on knowing the antidotes for common poisons.

They were allowed a half-day of freedom on Thanksgiving, which was spent eating a huge feast prepared by Grace and then lounging in front of a TV in Reginald’s office to watch the Gimbles Thanksgiving Day Parade.  It was one of the only times a year they were ever allowed in his study and it felt like a very special ritual. They recognized very few of the parade floats, because they weren’t familiar with basic pop culture. The parade culminated with Santa Klaus; none of them knew who Santa Klaus was.  Reginald had told them that it was St. Nicholas and that he was an icon for Christmas, but they didn’t really understand the connection between the two. They were just happy to be allowed in Reginald’s sacred place and to watch television for a few hours.

After Thanksgiving, however, the first three weeks of December were a nightmare of schoolwork; every moment not spent in class or in training was spent studying or practicing.  Allison’s power of suggestion did not extend to Grace, but if Pogo was present, she would often rumor her way out of meals early to go to her room and study; as had been the ritual for several years running, Ben burst into tears four days before their final exams before bed, and Klaus broke a couple of fingers to get pain meds, his stress amplifying his powers.  Diego became quieter and quieter; by contrast, Luther became more and more talkative, reciting his notes dutifully from memory until they’d all-but lost meaning.

Every year had been worse than the last; Reginald said that, as they grew into adulthood, they should cease to expect the world to treat them as children and be prepared for the full brunt of its ugliness.  The threats they faced, he said, were nothing compared to those that awaited them. During the last two years, he’d begun actively sabotaging or distracting them during their exams, because he said operating under stress was the most important skill of all and that he’d been too soft in years prior.

Having successfully whipped everyone into a state of near-panic, their exams began on Monday, December 18th, with a written exam on federal criminal law history, followed by a practical on foreign languages administered by Grace.

When lunch rolled around, no one felt like eating; Ben had been unable to recall the Mandarin word for “evacuation” and the Korean word for “ally,” while Luther was convinced he’d butched his Arabic penmanship.  Diego was hiccupping uncontrollably, and Allison kept asking if it was Title 8 or Title 9 of the US Code that covered Arbitration. Klaus periodically burst into a nervous, hyena-like laugh. He had spent his exam quietly murmuring to an empty space beside his desk.  According to Reginald, this did not qualify as cheating; using their powers to succeed was encouraged. To that end, Allison had attempted to skip her exams entirely, but Reginald had expected as much and programmed Grace not to let her get away with it.

Vanya, as an honorary member of their strange school, had about a third of the workload as the rest of them.  No one cared if she knew Morse code or steer a sailboat or draft an Interpol notice. She sat tersely with the rest of them at mealtimes, watching them panic, remaining silent lest any of them lash out at her for her luck.  Vanya, the normal one, received only the most basic education, and was not burdened with the intense expectations that Reginald heaped onto the rest of them.

By Thursday, everyone had hit something of a wall.   No one was thinking of Christmas even though it was mere days away.  They got three free days for Christmas, but the day before Christmas Eve was usually reserved for recovery from their exams.  (The other two trimesters, they received 48 hours before the beginning of the next segment. The first day that their exam results were posted, they tended to isolate themselves; the second was usually a celebration for another trimester passed, and usually involved a group outing.)   They marched from classroom to classroom with grim determination. Klaus, Ben, and Allison began sleeping together. Diego, as usual, had gone entirely electively mute, and on Friday morning, when the morning alarm rang, no one thought it odd that he was curled up with Grace in her art nook with his stuffed octopus.

At the end of the day, Reginald announced, “Time.  Pencils down,” and everyone set down their essays. Final exam week was over.  Luther’s leg was jiggling manically under his desk; Klaus had pushed aside his pencil but was still whispering in German to someone beside him.

“You are all dismissed.  You grades will be posted tomorrow morning on the door,” Reginald informed them brusquely.

They rose, stretched, and filed out.

In the hall, Allison immediately turned to Vanya.  “Jung and Wolfgang Pauli. Did you say true or false to that question?” she demanded.

“Uh… I think it’s true,” said Vanya.

“Fuh… fuck,” said Diego.

“I’m gonna puke,” said Ben, clutching his midsection.

“Hey, hey, hey, no, you’re okay.  You’re okay. It’s over. We did it.  It’s over,” said Klaus, slinging an arm around him and hugging him. 

“It’s over, guys,” reiterated Vanya.  “That’s it, we’re all done.”

“Okay, but I could only remember four current member of the British Psychoanalytic Council, how many did you guys get?” asked Luther anxiously.

“I’m gonna puke!”

“G-g-get him a… buh… buh…”

Vanya shoved open the door to the classroom, grabbed the wastebin, and thrust it toward Ben.  He dry-heaved into it.

“Thanks, Vanya,” he managed.

“It’s okay,” she said gently, stroking his hair.

“I only got two.  Oh, God, I only got two…”  Ben retched again.

“I made one of mine up,” admitted Allison, hugging Ben’s arm.  “It’s over, okay? It’s over. We’re all fine. We all did great.  I heard a rumor we all passed.”

“We all passed!” agreed Luther, face lighting up.

“Oh, G-g-g-god!” exclaimed Diego, barking out a laugh and pulling Vanya into a hug.

Klaus and Ben jumped up a down, the wastebasket still between them, cheering.

“Okay, alright.  Okay. That’s it.  Let’s go relax,” instructed Luther.

“Aye-aye, Cap!” said Klaus, saluting.

“I mean, I definitely did okay in knot-tying,” said Diego.

“Me, too,” agreed Allison.  “I think we’re all good. And tomorrow we get to sleep in.”

“I’m gonna sleep ‘til one,” said Luther gratefully.

He was lying, of course.  All of them, out of habit, rose at six A.M. sharp, and donning their uniforms, they tore into the third-story wing toward their classroom, to check the grades Reginald had posted on the door.  Vanya and Klaus had both gotten perfect scores; Vanya, with nothing to do with her time but study, had something to prove, whereas Klaus routinely summoned experts in whatever field he needed help in, once asking Jung directly for some clarification on his writings.  Ben struggled to see in the back of the crowd; he had the shortest legs (next to Vanya) and couldn’t hope to beat Luther, and he craned to check his algebra scores over Luther’s shoulder. He had managed a C-, but barely; Reginald included their percentages with their letter grades, and his was among the lowest, along with Luther’s chemistry, Diego’s foreign language, and Allison’s pharmaceutical knowledge.  Ironically, everyone knew Diego was perfectly fluent in all of the languages he spoke; nonetheless, he always narrowly risked failing them during their final exams, because of his stutter.

* * *

On Christmas Day, they rose early, as most children do, but not because of presents, but because of an ear-splitting scream from Klaus’s room.  He tore into the hallway in a pair of briefs, crying; Diego and Vanya got up to comfort him, while Allison went to get Grace. Klaus managed to fall back into a fitful sleep under Grace’s arm in the portrait hallway, curled against her, whimpering and murmuring in his sleep.  Figuring he needed the rest, and still waiting on Luther, the kids opted to grab their bikes and race them down the halls until Pogo came and yelled at them to stop. They convinced him to let them each pull a candy cane from the tree in the hall to eat in return for semi-good behavior.  (Candy canes were among the only candy Reginald allowed. The tree went up five days before Christmas every year and was decorated in gold tinsel, white baubles, and silver icicles. One year, Vanya had crocheted ornaments with their names and placed them on the tree, but Reginald had removed them.  He preferred the uniformity of their white, gold, and silver decor; getting candy canes had been a hard-won battle in and of itself.)

They were shooed outside to play in the snow; after everyone had gotten a snowball to the face, courtesy of Diego, they voted to go back in and jump on Luther’s bed until he got up.

Klaus, given a few hours, was roused more gently.  Bleary-eyed, he went to get dressed before following his siblings down to breakfast.  They ate at their usual pace; present unwrapping was always at eleven-thirty, every year, and not a moment before.  The presents were wrapped by Grace in the same silver paper; she and Pogo put the children’s names on their gifts, but Reginald always put their numbers.  There was an agreement among themselves that they did not have to get gifts for one another, though they sometimes did. Vanya got everyone a gift every year; she and Allison sometimes exchanged more than one, and Diego always got Vanya something, for reasons known only to him.  The year prior, Luther had gotten Klaus a rabbit foot and a four-pack of Benadryl, which Klaus had proclaimed to be, hands-down, the best gift he’d ever received.

“Do you think it’s a machete?” asked Diego, picking up a long package and shaking it experimentally.

“Careful, it could be a rifle,” warned Luther.

“I doubt it’d be packaged loaded, stupid.”

“Maybe it would be to teach you a lesson about shaking unknown package,” retorted Luther.

Diego shook the box harder at him, but then put it down.  Packing a loaded rifle to teach them a lesson about shaking unmarked packages would absolutely be something Reginald would do.

“The Entropy Institute sent us card,” said Ben; he and Grace were opening mail and sorting it into “must respond” and “don’t bother” piles.  He held up a glossy photo of a man and three children staring in front of a fireplace. The children wore matching green-and-red sweaters that looked out of place with their domino masks.

“Ugh.  I’m so glad Dad doesn’t make us wear stupid matching outfits at Christmas,” said Luther.

“They look _so_ dumb,” agreed Allison, picking up a slender gift that was likely a book.

The photo and the card it accompanied went into the “don’t bother” pile.  The Academy got a lot of mail, which Grace sorted; the important things were served to Reginald on a platter each morning with his tea, while the rest was shredded, much of it fan mail. 

Reginald arrived at eleven-thirty precisely and settled into an armchair; Pogo took a seat, as well, and the two exchanged cigars.  They smoked once a year in the house at Christmas, a ritual indulgence.

“Happy Christmas, children,” said Reginald.

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” they all intoned, waiting impatiently for Reginald to light a match, puff on his cigar, and then, finally, give them the go-ahead to tear into their gifts while he watched, with Grace standing at his shoulder, hands neatly clasped, beaming and occasionally returning a hug when one of the kids opened her gifts.

“Wow, thanks, Dad!”

“Oh, this is awesome, Pogo.  Here, I got you something--”

“No way, lemme see that!”

“Cool!  Hey, Ben, look at this!”

They made short work of the pile of gifts at the base of the tree.  They were only given a half-hour to open presents before being expected to clean up, put their gifts away, and sit down for Christmas lunch.  One year, they hadn’t unwrapped everything before noon, and Reginald had thrown out the unopened gifts.

On Christmas day, the record played at lunch was Christmas carols, the only time it was used for non-instructive purposes.  All of the children saw it as incredibly sentimental of Reginald and always grinned through the choruses of “Silent Night” and “Silver Bells.”  Later, Vanya and Klaus played cat’s cradle in front of the fireplace while Allison braided her hair beside Grace, who threaded strings of popcorn with Diego.  The popcorn would be taken out to the courtyard to be hung up in the oak tree by Luther, the tallest; every year, Ben bundled up and went out to sit quietly there, watching the birds.  He said that sitting in the courtyard was one of the most peaceful places in the whole Academy and he liked it there better even that his own room.

* * *

The week between Christmas and New Year’s was the beginning of a new trimester of school.  The kids were not allowed to stay up until midnight on New Year’s Eve, though they had anyway every year since they were eleven.  It was a ritual started by Five, and every year they went to his room and quietly counted down, watching the fireworks over the city from his window. 

The next morning, of course, they paid for it; they were sleepy in class and there was less talking than normal at their lockers.  Allison fell asleep in forensic science class and, later, Diego fell asleep during their sound signals class, waking with a start to three short horn blasts.  “Starboard side?” he guessed blearily.

Reginald cracked a ruler against his desk.  “Incorrect!” he barked.

Across the room, Klaus slipped Allison a note, and the two giggled, while Vanya doodled openly in her notes, knowing she wasn’t important enough to ever have Reginald call on or correct her during class.

* * *

On January 5th, Grace surprised everyone with a strange announcement.

“Allison, dear, you have mail.”

Everyone turned to stare at Allison.  None of them had ever gotten mail before.

Grace held out an envelope.

“Number Three, what is the meaning of this?” demanded Reginald, stepping forward and grabbing the envelope.  He held it up. The official-looking document had an Argyle University logo stamped on it.

Allison looked petrified.

Reginald held out a hand; Pogo placed a letter opener in it.  He opened the envelope, slid out the contents, and let the envelope flutter to the floor, reading the first page of the packet with a pinched look on his face.

He looked up when he was finished.  “Education is an admirable pursuit, Number Three.  But universities are for the layperson. Your education here, as well as your training, is far superior, and uniquely catered to your talents.  You have no need for a common college degree.” With that, he calmly, and with surprising strength, ripped the packet of papers in half.

Allison gasped in horror.

“Grace?” commanded Reginald, holding out the papers in his hand as if they smelled.

She scurried forward with a wastebasket, and he dropped the papers into it.

Allison burst into tears, turned, and ran up the stairs.  She disappeared for the rest of the day, and so did Luther.  Reginald taught the remaining three children as if this were perfectly normal.

That night, Allison showed up at bedtime, eyes red and puffy.  She refused to talk to anyone and went to bed with a slam of her door.

When she woke the next morning, she discovered the papers on her desk.  The two halves had been neatly aligned. Curious as to who had returned them, she nicked a fingerprinting kit from the mock crime lab and dusted the papers.  There were only two sets of prints on them: Reginald’s, and Diego’s.


	10. New Orleans

Mid-February they were informed that Dr. Terminal had been spotted in New Orleans and that there was concern he was going to take advantage of the Mardi Gras parade to prey upon unsuspecting revelers.

Allison had had a bad run-in with him years earlier and paled a little at his name.  Luther reached over thoughtlessly and put his hand over hers.

They all packed in a rush; Luther nearly knocked Vanya to the ground, he left his room in such a hurry.

“Where are you going?” she asked, looking at the suitcase.

“Huh?  Oh. New Orleans,” said Luther.  “Bye.”

In the main hall, Diego and Ben were waiting; their suitcases by the door, they were kicking a soccer ball around.  It bounced off of Reginald’s portrait and Grace scolded them gently for playing indoors.

“MOM!  I CAN’T FIND MY MOISTURIZER!” yelled Allison over the bannister.

“I PACKED IT ALREADY!” yelled Klaus, sliding down the handrail.  “Laissez les bons temps rouler, mes frères et ma sœur! Time for some shrimp scampi and naked ladies in feather boas!”

“You think?” asked Diego, looking hopeful.

“Why not?  It’s a party!  Allison, did you pack your boa?” asked Klaus teasingly.  He let out a giggly squeal as she chucked her suitcase at him. 

“We’re going for a mission.  I don’t think we’re gonna get much chance to fool around,” she said stiffly.  She glanced over her shoulder, then leaned in. “But if we do, I’m going to Tulane’s campus to look around.”

“You’re still goin’ on about that?” asked Diego, picking under his nails with a knife.

Allison gave him an incredulous look, but didn’t comment.

“Our main focus should be the mission,” said Luther.

“And beignets,” said Ben.

“And bei-- no.   _No_.  The mission,” said Luther.

“Beig-nets.  Beig-nets,” Klaus began chanting.

“Beig-nets!  Beig-nets!” joined in the others.  Knowing he’d been beaten, Luther sighed and relented, joining in the chant at the end.

They stopped when Vanya showed up and tried to chant along with them, too.

“Go away, Vanya.  You don’t get it,” said Diego.

“It’s an inside joke,” added Klaus.

Vanya vanished, but not before Ben asked her to feed his hermit crab while he was gone.  He had begged for one for years and finally received one for Christmas from Allison, much to Reginald’s display.  It lived in a small plastic tank in the science classroom; Reginald felt it was better treated as an experiment and had told Ben not to get too attached.  (They had two other lab animals, a pair of white rabbits the kids casually referred to as Shock and Awe.) Ben had already given his crab the honorary title of Number Eight, and a few nights a week, the tank migrated from the lab to Ben’s room.

* * *

Despite Luther’s insistence that they should be mission-oriented, Klaus’s prediction of a party turned out to be more or less accurate.  They arrived on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter to crowds of half-clothed people in a colorful array of beads and feathers, raucously cheering over the blare of jazz music.  The sun was already setting, and the party was ramping up.

Reginald was not staying with them.  He wanted them “on the ground” but had retired to a normal hotel that wasn’t in the heart of the celebration after dropping them off in front of their hotel.  He didn’t get out of the car; he had been glaring disapprovingly at the drunken crowd of revelers since they arrived.

The five teens clustered tightly, closing their pack, huddling together in wide-eyed shock at their surroundings.

Before Luther had even checked them into the hotel, Ben and Diego both claimed to have seen a breast.

(They had, of course, all seen Allison’s, since, as a team, they regularly changed in front of each other.  But they didn’t count Allison because she was their sister.)  (Privacy was not and had never been among Reginald's values.  None of the children had enough social context to think it was strange that they still all shared at locker room at the Academy, even though puberty had hit several of them like a truck years ago.)

“How’re we ever gonna find anyone in _this_?” asked Diego.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be dark soon, and there’s like a million people,” agreed Ben.

"It's only a few hours 'til the parade starts and our intel indicates Dr. Terminal is going to be on the route, picking off spectators," said Allison, checking her watch.  "We have to find him ASAP."

“Klaus,” said Luther.

“No way,” said Klaus, shaking his head vehemently.  “No, no, no, no.  I can’t talk to the ghosts here. I don’t even speak French.”

“First of all, yes, you do, and second of all, we all know the dead speak a universal language.  You call it Ghoulan.”

“...this is why I don’t like to tell you things.  You throw it into my face later,” said Klaus, crossing his arms petulantly.  According to Klaus, he could understand the dead regardless of their language.  He himself opted to speak to them in their own language when possible; he said it made them more cooperative.  Like the rest of the children, he spoke three languages other than English.  For ghosts whose language he didn't know, he simply spoke English, and as far as anyone could tell, the ghosts understood him just as easily as he understood them.

“Guys!  Guys!” interrupted Diego, pointing frantically.  Luther, Ben, and Klaus turned just in time to see a woman pull up her shirt.

“Oh, grow up,” grumbled Allison.

“ _You_ grow up.  There’s nothing wrong with appreciating the beauty of the human form,” snapped Klaus.

“Guys, focus.  Klaus, you need to get their help to find--”

“There’s too many here, and they’re all talking at once.”

“If we don’t find Dr. Terminal before the parade starts, there’ll be even _more_ ghosts,” pointed out Diego.

Klaus let out a withered sigh.  “Okay, fine. Fine. Let’s go to the room and I’ll do the stupid thing.  Ben, did you bring my board?”

“Yeah.”

“C’est dommage, I was hoping you’d forgotten it.  Allons-y, let’s get this over with.”

The five of them got into an elevator and rode up to their room on the second floor.  Their hotel was a brick building that sat on the corner of the street and was only three stories; the second and third both had a wide balcony with a railing that overlooked the busy street.  The railing was made of delicate wrought-iron and clearly came from another century. The doors that led out to it were tall French windows that could be covered with shutters.

The second they entered the room, Klaus went pale, whimpered, and turned to bolt.

Luther grabbed him.

“No, please--”

“Klaus, we have to defeat Dr. Terminal or Dad’ll be mad at us.”

“And also he’ll kill a bunch of people,” said Diego.

“Dad?” asked Ben in alarm.

“No, Dr. Terminal, moron.  ...but yeah, Dad’ll kill us, too, if we don’t defeat Dr. Terminal.”

“No, no…”  Klaus fought weakly in Luther’s grip.  He had already made his discomfort in New Orleans known when they passed a large cathedral that was only a few blocks away from the hotel.  Klaus avoided places of worship just as much as he avoided hospitals, if not more; at least hospitals had medicine in them, supposedly. Klaus, like his siblings, had never been a patient in a hospital, or seen a real doctor; all of his medical business was taken care of at home, in the Academy’s medical wing.

“Klaus, once you find Dr. Terminal, we’ll _leave the room_ to go find him,” pointed out Ben.

“I don’t want to,” said Klaus tearfully.

“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to,” said Allison, jaw tight.  The prospective of facing Dr. Terminal had etched a determined kind of terror into her features.

Luther gave her a worried look.  “Listen, Rumor… I know you and Terminal have history.  Do you want to sit this one out? ...we’d all understand.”

“No.  You might need me for crowd dispersal,” she said firmly.  “Let’s just get this over with. Klaus, ask--”

“Désolés, désolés, s'il vous plaît, arrêtez--” pleaded Klaus in Luther’s grip.

“I’ll get his planchette,” said Diego wearily as Luther dragged Klaus over to one of the two beds in the room.  He plopped him down on the bed hard enough to bounce him a little. Klaus curled his arms around his knees, eyes wide, staring at the window.

Luther and Allison were already pulling their leather jumpsuits from their bags.

“It’s _way_ too hot for these,” said Ben with a sigh.

“Everything we own’s too hot,” grumbled Diego as he pulled his sweater vest over his head.

“Did you guys bring your bathing suits?” asked Allison.  “This place has a pool.”

“Oh, no!  I forgot mine!  ...oh, wait, never mind, Mom packed it.”

“Klaus, get dressed,” said Luther, throwing Klaus’s suit at him.  Their day-to-day, local, and undercover outfits were school uniforms, but for big, high-profile missions like this one, they wore black jumpsuits.  The school crest that always sat over their hearts was replaced by an umbrella logo. These were their grown-up crime-fighting outfits.

Klaus stripped down and yanked on his suit and his mask, then gestured for everyone to join him on the bed.  They sat in a circle, legs crossed, and all put fingers on the planchette. Luther stood behind Klaus, looking over his shoulder, a notebook and pencil in his hand to write down the messages as they came.  Like all of them, Klaus’s powers often needed directed; the Ouija board helped him focus.

“Bonsoir?  Bonsoir?” The planchette slid violently to “HELLO,” yanking the children’s hands with it.  “Ah, bonsoir, je m'appelle Quatre. Je cherche un homme, un docteur… s'il vous plaît, arrêtez de crier.”

The wooden token on the board in front of them began sliding.

“Y - O - U - R - F - L - Y - I - S - D - O - W - N - 6,” read Luther.  “ _Klaus._ ”

“Heh, heh.”

Ben looked down.  His suit had three zippers, unlike the others’.  This was to allow him to let Them out without tearing the suit.  The bottom zipper was still down; he zipped it back up.

“Okay, okay, okay, I’m serious, I’m serious.  Le docteur. Le docteur,” said Klaus, his eyebrow knitting together in concentration.

"(Hello)," read Luther, as the planchette moved to greet them.

"Où est le docteur?" pressed Klaus.

“C - H - A - R - T - E - S - S - T,” read Luther.

The planette twisted suddenly, pointing to the north-east corner of the board.

“Chartes St.?  ...no?  No, no, he’s already left.  He’s waiting.  Now he’s waiting for the parade. ...he’s at some nightclub,” reported Klaus, brow furrowed at the board.  Sweat was beading on his forehead.

“T - H - E - Y - T - O - O - K - M - Y - B - A - B - Y.  (No.)”

“Cross-talk.  Ignore her.”

“O - U - T - G - U - N - N - E - D. - D - A - M - N - Y - O - U - M - U - L - L - I - N - S.”

“Major General Pakenham, not now!”

“T - H - E - W - A - T - E - R - I - S - R - I -S - N -G.”

“Cross-talk.”

“Klaus, _focus_ ,” demanded Luther as the planchette slid crazily all over the board.

“I’m _trying_.  Do you know how many goddamn ghosts there are in New Orleans?”

“Dr. Terminal.  He’s northeast of Chartes St.   _Where_?” demanded Allison.

“J - A - C - K - S. - 1 - E -Y - E -D - J - A - C - K -S.”

“Where’s Jack’s?”

“It’s off of Chartes St.  That way,” said Klaus, pointing with one shaking hand.  Two slender fingers on his other hand were still on the planchette.  Everyone else had eased off of it and it was now flying wildly across the board.  Luther was scribbling its messages in the hopes it might provide more info on Dr. Terminal.

“T - H - E - M - A - N - O - R - H - O - U - S - E I - S - B - U - R - N - I - N - G.”

“T - E - L - L - H - E - R - I - S - T - I - L - L - L - O - V - E - H - E - R.”

“H - E - L - P - M - E - K - L - A - U - S.”

“M - Y - B - O - D - Y - W - A - S - T - H - R - O - W - N - I - N - T - H - E - R - E - S - E - R - V - O - I- R.”

“T - H - I - R - T - Y - Y - E - A - R - S.”

“M - A - K - E - T - H - E - M - P - A - Y - I - N - B - L - O - O - D.  (Yes.) B - L - O - O - D. (Yes.) B - L - O - O - D.”

“H - E - W - I - L - L - K - I - L - L - A - G - A - I - N.”

“K - L - A - U - S - H - E - L - P.”

“L - E - T - S - M - A - K - E - A - D - E - A - L - K - L - A - U - S.”

“Are we done?  Please?” asked Klaus.

“...yeah, this is good enough.  Let’s go to Jack’s,” said Luther, clearly slightly disappointed that Klaus hadn’t given them anything more useful.  He tossed his notebook on the bed; it contained years of Klaus’s communiqués along with doodles of airplanes.

Masks and suits on, their suitcases sitting on the ends of their beds, they went back to the elevator.

“What floor?” asked Klaus to an invisible presence next to them.

Ben pushed the button for the ground floor and the five of them rode it down to the lobby, filling out into a busy street full of drunken revelers.

Luther led them up the street; as the tallest, he was in the best position to move through the crowd.  Klaus alternatively bumped into people he thought were ghosts and walked through presences no one else could see, reacting to each one as if he were walking through a cobweb.  But no one noticed; it was too crowded and people were too drunk to care.

The roads were narrow and the sidewalks narrower.  Many of the sidewalks were still made of paving stones; the porches of the rows of buildings overhung them, supported by beams, and Ben got shoved into the sidewalk pillars several times, buffeted by the crowd.  Above them, people hung over the railings precariously, waving flags and feather boas and cheering.

They turned north on Toulouse St.  Jack’s was in a two-story building that, like the others, featured a second-story mezzanine packed with revelers.  It was a pale pink color with white shutters.

They moved toward the door; a man at the door stopped them.

“You are definitely not twenty-one,” he scoffed, looking at Ben.  “Sorry, but you guys can’t get in without IDs.”

“We’re not here to drink.  We’re superheroes and one of our arch-nemeses is in there,” explained Diego.

“Your arch-nemesis is in there ‘cause he had an ID.  No ID, no entry.”

“I heard a rumor we already showed you our IDs.  We’re twenty-one,” said Allison, and with that, they moved past the dazed bouncer and into a dim, loud club.

Onstage, a drag queen in a bright yellow dress was singing “Rio” by Duran Duran.  Klaus’s eyebrows raised.

“Don’t get any ideas, Four,” said Diego dryly.

“Too late.”

“Number Three, you flank left with Four and Six; Two, with me,” instructed Luther.  They broke up, easing through the club, searching for their mark.

“He must be upstairs,” whispered Ben.  “...I’ll go first.” He pushed aside a curtain that led to some stairs; Allison and Klaus eased after him.  A few people looked over with mild interest as they slipped off; clearly, they thought they were the next performance.

Away from the sound system and the crowded street party, the upstairs hallway was oddly quiet.  The three broke away from each other and began pressing their ears to doors; “This one!” whispered Ben.

Allison crouched down before the doorknob and pulled out a bobby pin to pick the lock.  It swung open; they were greeted with a terrible gurgling noise.

“How many are alive?” asked Klaus in a shrill voice, drawing back.

“This one is,” said Allison, rushing forward to press down on a stump.  The person tied in the chair in the room was missing both legs; a pool of black-red blood glistened beneath them.  “...he’s in shock.”

The man’s head lolled and he let out another wet, gurgling noise.  Allison pulled out a knife from her belt and severed his ties to ease him down to the floor and elevate what was left of his legs.

“He’s not here,” said Klaus, peeking into the room.

“The parade,” said Ben, checking his watch.  “It’s at seven… it started ten minutes ago!”

“Shit!”

“Allison, you stay here.  Me and Ben’ll go,” said Klaus.

“But I’m the best one at first aid,” protested Ben.  (Ben had a remarkable, almost miracle-like touch when it came to first aid; to date, he'd nursed several pigeons back to health that he found half-dead on their rooftop.  Pogo had helped him.  They had not told Reginald.)

“I know, but you’re also the strongest aside from Luther, and if Dr. Terminal brought any murderbots, we might need Them.”

Klaus grabbed Ben’s arm and the two of them ran out of the room and back down the stairs, where a new drag queen in a pink dress had joined the one in the yellow dress and the two were singing “The Boy Is Mine.”

“How will we find them?” yelling Ben as the two burst out the front door into a massive mob of cheering people.

There was a crash and several screams a few doors down; they spotted Luther being thrown from a parade float and into a trash can.

“I think I got a lead!” yelled Klaus back.

The two of them both began trying to shove their way through the crowd.  But neither was especially tall or wide, and by the time they caught up, the crowd had been whipped into a frenzy.  Atop of a parade float, Dr. Terminal was crackling gleefully, holding a pair of severed hands, his metal helmet splattered with red. 

“...HORROR!” yelled Luther, spotting Ben.

“Got it!” yelled Ben, ripping open his shirt.  Tentacles uncoiled, but a moment later, several drones armed with blades flew forward and, distracted, the tentacles flailed in the air.  The blades nicked them; they sprayed black blood that smelled rich and rank, somewhere between oil and decay.

“SPACE, BEHIND YOU!” hollered Klaus.

Luther had gotten up and was shoving against the hysterical crowd; there were no clear lines of sight anymore.  Klaus was their eyes and Luther ducked at his instruction without question; another drone flew above his head.

Dr. Terminal laughed maniacally.  “You thought I could be contained?  You really are foolish children! I am a brilliant mind, and there is no force of nature more unstoppable than a brilliant mind.”

“Oh, yeah?  How ‘bout knives?” yelled Diego, heaving himself onto the float and throwing three blades.  Two stuck into Dr. Terminal’s chest, and the third in his arm; he yelled out.

Above them, the drones crunched, showering the people below with metal pieces as they were throttled by Ben’s tentacles.

“You think you could kill me, when forces stronger than you couldn’t?” yelled Dr. Terminal, wrenching one of the knives from his chest.  “...but where is the girl? The girl is my favorite.”

Luther threw himself onto the parade float.

“Need a hand?” yelled Dr. Terminal, flinging one of the hands at him.  It smacked him square in the face, just long enough to stop him. “I don’t normally like to utilize such primitive instruments, but I really don’t have time for you brats if you didn’t even bring the girl.”  Dr. Terminal pulled out a gun and pointed it at Luther.

“SPACE!” yelled Diego.  He lunged and shoved Luther off the float; both of them hit the ground and disappeared, undoubtedly being trampled by the crowd.

Dr. Terminal cackled.

“There!” yelled Klaus, grabbing Ben’s shoulder and pointing to the crowd where Luther and Diego had vanished.

The tentacles shot forward and shoved the crowd apart; Luther and Diego jumped back onto their feet.  Luther cupped his hands; Diego stepped back up onto the parade float with an assist from Luther, and Luther bounded after him.  Diego had already unsheathed another knives; he flung them.

These didn’t hit their mark.  Or at least, not the way they usually did.  Both of them landed on the hilt instead of the point, smashing into Dr. Terminal’s helmet with a deafening _CLANG_!  He dropped, limp.

“Looks like your plans have been... _terminated_!” yelled Diego, grinning.

“HA!” said Luther.

The crowd burst into applause.

One of the showgirls who had been cowering on the parade float rose and, covered in glitter and feathers and beads, grabbed Diego’s face and pressed their mouths together, prompting even louder cheers. 

Luther looked away in embarrassment, hyper-aware that he and all of his siblings were witnessing Diego’s first kiss. 

When she pulled away, Diego was bright red.

“HEY EVERYONE… THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY SAVED US!” yelled someone.

“LOOK HERE, IT’S HORROR AND THE SÉANCE!” called someone else, flinging an arm around Klaus’s shoulders.  “Here, kid, have a drink!” He shoved a cup into Klaus’s hand. Klaus drank it, then sputtered; it was hard liquor.

“Someone call the authorities to arrest this man!” commanded Diego, pointing authoritatively at Dr. Terminal’s limp form on the ground. 

“THREE CHEERS FOR THE KRAKEN!”

“HIP-HIP--”

“Take a shot!  You earned it!” said someone, pushing drinks into Ben’s and Klaus’s hands.  On the ground, they were getting swarmed by admirers. Ben was actively gagging; his tentacles had retreated but he was looking pale and shaky.  Klaus took his drinks for him and was choking them down because the crowd seemed imminently about to mob them if they didn’t accept their praise.

Luther managed to clear the crowd so emergency personnel could arrive.  Dr. Terminal was arrested; paramedics were directed to Jack’s, and familiar yellow do-not-cross police tape was strung up to block off Toulouse St.

By the time they had shaken hands with the police chief and given all their statements, they had gotten separated.  This had happened before; they followed procedure, which was to go back to the hotel and regroup there.

Diego, Allison, and Ben arrived first.

“Congratulations,” said Ben weakly.

Diego shrugged a little uncomfortably, looking away.

“...what was it like?”

“Oh, y’know, it was-- nice.”

“...did any of Terminal’s victims make it?” Ben asked Allison, changing the subject.  Diego was still clearly processing.

“No,” she said flatly.

The conversation stalled until Luther came in, supporting Klaus’s giggling, limp form.

“He’s _drunk_ ,” said Luther.

“I take it back.  I _love_ New Orleans!  ...Deegs! Deegs.  Deegs, did you get smooched?  Huh?” asked Klaus, laughing.

Diego turned red again.  “The hostages didn’t make it,” he told Luther.

Luther pulled a face.  “That’s a shame. How many casualties?”

“Five,” said Allison. “But four were already gone when we made it there.”

“Well, I don’t care, ‘cause guess what?” said Klaus, grinning ear-to-ear.  “They’re quiet. They’re actually quiet now! I can’t hear them. I can’t hear a damn thing.”  He collapsed into the bed, rolling around in glee; a mostly-empty bottle of rum someone had given him fell out of a pocket that was supposed to contain emergency flares and rolled loudly across the wood floor.

The next morning, Klaus spent the day clutching his head and wincing at loud noises.  He swore solemnly he’d never drink again.

Allison was unusually quiet.  She hadn’t had to face Dr. Terminal, instead staying with the last of his victims while he bled out.  Although she told her siblings several times that there was nothing they could have done to save him, it clearly bothered her, and she never ended up visiting Tulane University during their trip.

Reginald commended them on their success and took them out for ice cream, something he used to do after every mission when they were younger but now, as they edged toward adulthood, did rarely.  Diego ordered rum raisin, and at the mention of rum, Klaus ran outside of the shop to vomit in the street.


	11. Ben Hargreeves

The dormitories had started out relatively uniform, but by the time they were seventeen, each of the Hargreeves’s rooms had evolved significantly.  Allison’s was, by and far, the boldest. As the only girl, and one with the power of persuasion, at that, she had successfully managed to create a personal space that was, on the surface, at least, perfectly suited for a normal, teenage girl.  The lamps had beaded shades; there was a large, woven tapestry with brightly colored parrots on one wall; her boudoir was covered in make-up and nail polish. Even though they were not allowed to wear anything aside from their uniforms, and jewelry was forbidden, accessories had begun cropping up: necklaces, scarves, even earrings.  (Allison’s ears were not pierced.) (Klaus had offered to do it; he had done his own, twice, both times being made to let them grow back. Allison had told Klaus when she got it done it would be by a professional. Klaus had protested that he practically _was_ a professional, and was willing to pierce his own yet again to prove it, earning scoffs from everyone.)

Diego’s room was the antithesis: the walls were covered in posters for alternative rock bands, along with dart boards and range targets; Diego’s room bristled a warning to any who entered that Diego was not a person to be messed with (stuffed octopus on the bed notwithstanding).

And then, of course, there was Klaus.  A confused mishmash of everyone else’s style, Klaus’s room had the unsettled feeling of being a place that was more occupied than lived in.  The book shelf was clustered with religious texts and spiritual guides; the walls were covered in a mixture of posters, tailsmans, and charms; the light strings were perpetually on, throwing shadows over piles of pillows on the floor, where Klaus slept increasingly often instead of his bed.

When Diego walked in, Klaus was sitting on one of the pillows, scribbling madly on the wall.  The walls not covered by decorations were covered instead by overlapping, automatic writing; to anyone unaware of Klaus’s powers, he would have passed for certifiably insane.

“Hey,” said Diego.

“Not now,” snapped Klaus irritably, without turning.

_Don’t ignore me you brat I need you to send me back please Klaus I’ll do anything I can make your dreams come true just help me please help us Klaus I’m too young to die it hurts please Klaus._

“We need to talk.”

“I’m _busy_.”

“...c’mon, you can do psychography anytime.  This is really important,” protested Diego as Klaus dug his pencil into the wall.  (It wrote out a strings of threats, pleas, and bargains.)

“Fine.  What?” Klaus still didn’t turn, his hand scribbling out words as fast as he could write them.  His shoes were abandoned by the door; Diego nudged at one. Klaus’s toenails were painted black, courtesy of Allison.

“I’ve been checking the mail before Mom can get to it.  This morning there was another letter for Three Hargreeves.”

(Years later, Allison would later change her name, legally, to Allison Hargreeves.  Diego would discover the announcement in the local paper while scouring the Wanted ads for work; ironically, it was nestled next to an ad by Vanya Hargreeves advertising violin lessons.  In the year following, Diego and Vanya would also have their legal names changed from a number to their proper names. None of the other Hargreeves would ever change theirs.)

Klaus didn’t react to Diego’s report about Allison getting a letter, so Diego added pointedly: “.. _.from UCLA_.”

“...okay?”

“She got accepted into another college.”

“...so?”

“That doesn’t worry you?”

“Why should it?”

“Because what if she goes to California?”

At this, Klaus finally set down his pencil, put his hands on his knees, and turned around to stare at Diego.  “Are you stupid? Allison’s not moving to California.”

“Well, she’ll have to if she goes to college there.”  Diego crossed his arms and leaned against the wall next to a desk; it was cluttered with a pile of what appeared to be trash.

“...she’s not going to college there.”

“Right?  Because obviously, you know.  We have a responsibility to the city.”

“Well, the world.”

“But Argygle is our home.”

“Because Dad dragged us here.  You and me would be on different continents if we hadn’t been adopted,” pointed out Klaus.  “We’re a global team.”

“But we grew up here.  Argygle’s our city. Our hometown,” said Diego, brow furrowing.  He looked over at the desk and rolled a screw across its surface.

“Don’t touch that,” said Klaus sharply.

“What are you building?  A bomb?” This wouldn’t have been unusual.  Klaus had a “friend” from 1918 who was a Scandinavian anarchist and thoroughly enjoyed setting fires.  Klaus periodically set them around the house to get him to leave him alone. He had picked up a fair number of tips about constructing IEDs from him as well.

“None of your beeswax.  Weren’t you here to talk about Allison?”

“Yeah, and how she can’t leave.  This is the best city in the world and it raised us.  We owe it to the citizens to stay here. I know we do a lot of international missions, but they need us here, too.  This is our home.”

“...you’ve been reading too many of your own interviews.  We don’t owe this town any more than we owe the rest of the world.  But don’t worry. Allison won’t go anywhere.”

“Yeah.  ...but could you talk to her?”

Klaus raised an eyebrow.  “Why me?”

“She’ll listen to you.  You guys are close.”

“She’s closer to Luther.”

“But Luther won’t listen to me.”

“You want me to rumor the Rumor because of a rumor she’s leaving?  God, Diego. You’re a moron sometimes.” Klaus turned back to his wall.  “I’m not going to talk to her because there’s nothing to talk about. She’s just messing around with the letters.  It’s not even worth thinking about. Now go away. I’m busy.”

Diego pushed off the wall and left with a bitter look on his face.  He’d expected Klaus to be more receptive. _If I were dead he’d listen to me,_ he thought darkly, shouldering aside Ben as he hurried down the stairs.

“Hey!”  Ben ran after him in annoyance.  “Who peed in your Clever Crisps?”

“Leave me alone,” grumbled Diego as he made it onto the landing.  He paused; there were several police officers and men in suits in the sitting room to the right.  Ben followed his gaze.

In silent agreement, the two walked into the room to see what the commotion was.

Reginald was sitting in an armchair by the fire, the framed boar’s head over the mantle staring ominously outward.  One of Reginald’s passions was big game hunting and the house was covered in his trophies. Recently, Ben had taken offense at this, and burst into tears when Reginald brought home a leopard four years prior following his annual safari.  It had upset him enough to trigger Them to come out and trash the rooftop observatory. Since then, Reginald had brought home no new trophies. Or at least, he hadn’t put any on display where Ben could see them.

“Well, look who it is!” said one of the older detectives, turning and smiling at Diego and Ben.

“Hello, Detective,” said Diego.

“Hi, Mr. Narayan,” added Ben, recognizing one of Reginald’s lawyers.

“Are you boys staying out of trouble?”

“Yes, sir,” they both chimed, hands clasped behind their backs.  Often, Reginald kicked them out of grown-up meetings, but they’d found that if they were sufficiently well-behaved, he might let them stay a few minutes longer, just to show them off.  Getting firsthand knowledge of upcoming missions was always useful.

“Detective Lupo was just on his way out,” said Reginald.  “We were discussing private legal matters.”

“The families of the Hexettes are complaining,” elaborated the detective.

“...am I in trouble?” asked Ben.

“No, of course not.  You were acting in self-defense against grown-ups and trying to save the city,” said one of the lawyers reassuringly.  “Some people just like to sue. Don’t worry. We’re going to make sure neither you nor your father are held accountable for the alleged deaths.”

“Alleged?” repeated Diego, looking over at Ben.

“Oh, no, they’re _really_ dead,” said Ben.

“Allegedly,” corrected Mr. Narayan.

“Definitely,” corrected Ben.

“It was in service to the city, Ben.  No one is mad at you,” said the detective.  “You did as good a job as any of our top officers could have.  Sometimes, things just don’t quite work out the way we want them to.  But you did your best and that still counts.”

Reginald looked like he’d bitten a lemon; in the Hargreeves household, effort did not count at all.  Outcomes did.

“It’s an honor and privilege to serve,” said Diego.

A few of the cops laughed.

“Listen to him… we’ll make a cop out of him yet!” said one of them.

Diego beamed.  Reginald scowled even more.  According to him, policework was beneath them.  Yet all of them had training in forensics. Reginald said that the police dealt with common criminals, and they dealt with _un_ common threats.  To Reginald, this was an important distinction.

“Return to your studies.  We have business to take care of, and you have essays to tend to.”

“Yes, Dad,” both chimed, turning and walking out.

“Detective Lupo’s nice,” commented Ben once they were out of hearing range.

“Yeah, I like working with the cops.  They’re great,” agreed Diego. The diversion to the sitting room had temporarily distracted him from his concerns about Allison, and he and Ben went to the lounge to work on their astronomy homework together.  Although Diego’s fears had been temporarily calmed, Ben was clearly anxious about the conversation and had trouble concentrating for the rest of the evening.

* * *

In early April, the children came down to breakfast one morning to find Grace repairing the screen on a window.  It had been torn overnight. Probably by an opossum, she said. (Diego had already left to get his knives.)

The breakfast nook was in the first basement.  (They had several, and below those, a bomb shelter.)  All of the windows looked out into window wells. Luther and Allison both examined the window thoughtfully.

“So there might be a rabid animal loose in the house?” asked Klaus in alarm.

“No, look.  There’s paw prints facing _toward_ the window.  What it was went back out,” said Allison, pointing to a print on the edge of the sink.

She had barely finished her words when there was a mewling noise under the sink.

Ben was the first to check.  “... _KITTENS_!”

Everyone was crowded around him in an instant; there were three small, blind kittens nestled into a pile of washing rags.  One was grey with stripes; one was grey with white socks; the other was pure black.

“Ohh, my goodness!” squealed Allison.

“Lemme hold one!  Lemme hold one!” demanded Klaus.

The kittens cried louder.

“We have to break the window again so the mom will come back,” said Luther.

“The mom won’t come back because Ben touched them, _idiot_ ,” said Klaus.

“That’s only birds, _idiot_ ,” retorted Luther.

“I got my knives!  Did you find the possum?” asked Diego, returning.

“If you lay a finger on these kittens, I’ll pop your head like a grape,” snarled Ben, clutching the two of the kittens to his chest protectively.

Diego held up his hands.  “Whoa, okay, geez. ...kittens?  It’s kittens?”

“Baby kittens,” confirmed Luther, reaching down to pick up the tiny grey one with socks.  It looked even tinier once it was in his hand.

“Can we keep them, Mom?  Please? _Please_?” everyone began begging.

“I don’t think so.  Your father wouldn’t abide by having three cats running around,” said Grace gently.

“But their mom can’t come back for them ‘cause you fixed the window!  Look at them! They’re helpless!” cried Ben, hugging the kittens to his chest.

“Yeah!  They’re orphans!  They need us!” chimed in Luther.

“ _We_ were adopted.  Can’t we adopt them just ‘til the grow up?” begged Allison.

“Oh, I don’t know, children…”

“Please, Mom, please, please, please!” they all begged.

“Can we ask Pogo?” asked Luther.  “How ‘bout we ask Pogo and if Pogo says yes then we can keep them ‘til they grow up?”

Grace relented and Luther tore out of the kitchen to ask Pogo if they could keep the kittens.  He returned with a breathless report that Pogo said they could so long as they stayed in the kitchen.  (Weeks later, Pogo would discover the kittens and demand to know why no one had informed him that they were raising kittens in the kitchen.)

Grace warned Ben that, since the kittens were less than a day old, they might not make it.  Ben ignored her warnings not to get attached and quickly outfitted the kittens with a cardboard box, a hot water bottle, and an alarm clock from Allison’s room.  (“It’ll be like the mother’s heartbeat so they don’t know they were abandoned,” he explained.)

He asked Luther for his birthday money and went to the pet store to buy kitten formula; he hand-fed the kittens between classes.  Their tiny claws, sharp as razors, shredded his hands, but he never complained. Though everyone was more than willing to help feed and pet the kittens, no one wanted to help them go to the bathroom, so this task fell entirely on Ben’s shoulders.

Although Grace said it was better not to name them, the kittens went the way of the lab rabbits and the hermit crab: Nine, Ben Jr., and Licorice all immediately became a major source of entertainment in the Hargreeves household, occupying most of the kids’ freetime.  Their eyes opened after two weeks and they wobbled wide-eyed across the kitchen floor, falling over frequently. All three had made it; Ben had managed to keep to a tight feeding schedule by frequently interrupting classes and trainings to “go to the bathroom.” (Vanya fed them when Ben was at his private training.)  Ben excused himself from class so often that Reginald thought he had a bladder infection and put him on antibiotics, which he took to his room and crushed up and put into plastic bags in case the kittens needed them.

By May, the kittens were using a litter box under the sink and chasing strings around the floor.  Ben had not complained of any stomachaches for a month; his hands were bandaged up heavily but he wore a perpetual look of contentedness.

“If we were normal, you could be a vet,” said Diego one morning at breakfast, as they watched Ben Jr. try to climb up Luther’s pant leg.  (They had determined that Ben, Jr. and Licorice were girls and that Nine was a boy.)

“...I’d like to be a vet,” said Ben.

“You could go to school for it,” suggested Allison.

Diego stabbed the table; the chinaware jumped, and so did Klaus and Vanya, who had not been paying attention.

“Shut _up_ about school!  We’re _in_ school!  We’ve been in school our whole lives!  Ben’s never gonna be a vet; none of us are ever gonna be anything other than heroes.  Okay? That’s what we were born for. The only thing we’re ever gonna do is be in this academy, or the police academy, or a military academy, or some other academy where we fight crime and save lives.”

“I wanna save _animals’_ lives,” said Ben, holding Licorice against him.

“You think Mr. and Mrs. Johnson are gonna take Sparky to some guy whose nickname is The Horror?” demanded Diego.

“Whoa, Deegs… chillax, man,” protested Klaus.

Diego flung a knife at him; it knocked over Klaus’s bowl of cereal, splattering him with milk.  Diego shoved his chair back and stormed off.

Allison rose.  Luther caught her arm.  “Let him go.”

“He has no right to talk to Ben like that!”

“Just give him space.  You know how he gets.”

Diego spent the rest of the day silent, hunched, and refusing to talk to or look at anyone (except Vanya, who didn’t count).

He thawed a little toward Klaus and Luther, and two days later, toward Allison.  He and Ben continued to give each other the cold shoulder all week. Finally, it broke when Diego asked if he could play with Nine.  Ben demanded an apology first, and to everyone’s great surprise, Diego gave it to him.

Later that evening, Ben asked Allison if he could borrow one of the SAT books she’d acquired from the library, and whether Tulane or UCLA had veterinary medicine programs.  He made sure to ask it out of earshot of Diego.

* * *

In May, the entire Umbrella Academy was subpoenaed by Mary Cahill, the mother of one of the women they had killed during the confrontation at the dam the year before.  They (specifically, Ben) were getting sued for wrongful death in the case of Marisa Cahill, one of the Hexettes, who had to have a closed-casket funeral due to what The Horror had done to her. 

(Klaus spent most of the trial with his eyes closed; Marisa Cahill was standing at the front of the room, drenched in red human blood and black tentacle slime, glaring daggers at him.)

The Hargreeves knew their way around a courthouse.  They followed Reginald in order, single-file, standing and sitting when told, hands neatly clasped on their laps.  They called the judge “Your Honor,” and all of the adults “sir” or “ma’am.”

Luther and Allison gave their testimonies: the Hexettes were all armed and had a history of violence and were in the act of threatening the city when they were killed.  It was unfortunate, but unpreventable.

On the stand, Ben quietly and respectfully answered the prosecution’s questions.

The jury deliberation took only four minutes before they returned a Not Guilty verdict.  Marisa Cahill let out an unholy screech that only Klaus could hear; Mary Cahill burst into tears; Luther and Diego high-fived.

Outside, a cheering crowd held up posters with their names on them, and the kids smiled and waved, wearing their court outfits and their domino masks.

“I can’t wait to get home.  I’m starving,” said Klaus in the car.

“Snack-time’s nearly over,” said Allison, checking her watch.

“...can we go through a McDonald’s drive-through?” asked Luther.

“Drive-through!” repeated Ben, bouncing in his seat a little.

Reginald checked his pocket watch, frowned, then relented.  “Very well.”

The teens cheered. 

Knowing what had happened last time, they begged to eat in the restaurant, and Reginald conceded.  He gave Luther money and waited in the car while they went into the restaurant, ordered food, and wolfed it down inside.

When they got home, Vanya was waiting to ask how things went.

“Great!  We got McDonald’s!  Oh, and also, Ben’s not going to jail,” said Klaus.

“...you got McDonald’s?” repeated Vanya.  “Did you bring me anything, or…?”

“Sorry, we ate at the restaurant,” said Luther.

“Snack-time is over, Number Seven.  You should have eaten when the opportunity arose. You will have to wait until dinnertime,” said Reginald.  She nodded mutely and watched everyone else hurriedly finished their shakes, getting brain freezes in their attempts to consume all of it before it was taken away from them.

* * *

That night, after dinner, Ben made a terrible discovery: while they had been in court all day, the kittens had escaped.  The screen was torn again and the kittens were nowhere to be found.

“They’re only two months old!  They’re too little to be out there alone!” cried Ben frantically.

“I’ll get my flashlight,” said Diego firmly.

“I’m sure they’ll come back.  They know where their food comes from.  This is their home,” said Luther.

Klaus meowed out the window.

“Klaus!  Can one of your ghosts find them?” asked Ben desperately, wheeling around and grabbing Klaus’s shoulders.

“Ghosts aren’t all-seeing, there’s a million stray cats in the city, and I don’t want to disturb the dead over some cats,” said Klaus, brushing Ben off.  His tone softened at Ben’s expression. “Listen, Luther’s right. They’ll come home. They’re just exploring like normal stray cats do.”

“They’re not strays!  They’re _mine_!  I raised them!” said Ben, nearly on the verge of tears.

Diego returned with a pair of flashlights.  “C’mon, Ben. We’ll find ‘em. They belong at home.  They probably didn’t even go very far.”

“You guys, bedtime is in thirty minutes,” said Luther.

“Kittens are more important,” said Diego sternly.  Ben nodded in grateful agreement. “We’ll just tell Dad we’re going on patrol for a few hours.”

In the kitchen, they moved a magnetic marker on a board of their names from "Home" to "On patrol," granting them an extension to their curfew until midnight, provided they submitted a summary of crimes thwarted to Reginald or Pogo by lunchtime the next day.

They were out well past midnight; when they broke curfew, Allison heard a rumor that they were had already returned and gone to bed so that they wouldn’t get in trouble.

The next morning, they appeared at the breakfast table red-eyed and clearly exhausted, without any kittens.

“What if they got kidnapped?” worried Ben, not touching his eggs.

“I’m sure the kittens are fine, sweetheart.  Cats are very independent creatures,” said Grace.

“They’ve got their claws.  They can defend themselves, Ben,” added Luther.

They put out an open can of tuna by the screen window, which they’d all prevented Grace from fixing, hoping that the tuna might lure the cats back.  The only thing it lured was flies, which Grace went after with a bright pink flyswatter for the better part of the afternoon.

Ben clutched his stomach all day, cringing in pain as his skin rippled.  He fell asleep in algebra class and only woke when a tentacle erupted from his midsection, knocked over Allison’s desk, ripped the chalkboard off the wall, and threw it onto the ground, cracking it.

It reached for Eight’s tank.

“ _NO_!” shouted Ben.

The tentacle actually stopped for a split second, then, instead of grabbing the tank, grabbed a microscope, wrapped around it, and squeezed, crunching the delicate equipment instantly.  It reached up and smashed a light for good measure before slithering back into Ben’s body.

“Number Six!” barked Reginald.

“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!”

Six was dismissed to go to his room and rest.  Instead, he went to the kitchen and fell asleep curled on the floor by the window.

In the months to come, Luther’s prediction would prove to be correct.  The cats did know where they’d come from, and they did come back, but with decreasing regularity.  Ben, Jr. was the first to disappear altogether, followed by Nine. Only the solid black one, Licorice, stuck around permanently; she hung out outside of Ben’s or Klaus’s windows, her wide, yellow eyes staring silently, and refused to ever be touched again.


	12. Institutional Rivalry

Diego, Vanya, and Allison all enjoyed playing soccer on the roof.  Back when they’d had Five, they had played two-on-two, with Diego and Five keeping goals while the girls kicked the ball around.  Allison was fairly good at football, at least in the Hargreeves household; Luther had been banned from playing since kicking his fifth ball off the roof and into the traffic below.  He preferred to serve as score-keeper and ref, anyway; as leader, it seemed only fair that he ought to do it. Sometimes, Ben and Klaus could be convinced to play, too, and then they had a proper game and could pass the ball around.

With Five’s disappearance when they were thirteen, the rules of the game had had to be changed.  Now, they either had two people trying to score into a single goal, or, sometimes, three people and one unguarded goal.  The unfortunate reality of their isolation was felt in these strange games; they had seen real games at the park with eleven kids on each team.

Allison confessed to Vanya part of the reason she wanted to go to college was to play sports.

“We play sports here,” protested Vanya quietly, kicking the ball over.

Allison stopped it under her foot.  “You know what I mean. _Real_ sports.”

“...why don’t you just go to the park and ask the other kids to play?”

“Maybe you could, but I couldn’t.  They’d all recognize me.”

“I thought the point of the masks was to conceal your identity.”

Allison frowned and looked up at the stormy sky pensively.  “...hm. I guess I never really thought about it.”

They went back to kicking the ball, until a bell summoned Allison downstairs to line up with the others in the front room; they had an interview with _Culture Now_ that afternoon.

Reginald looked over each of them with a critical eye, giving Klaus’s hair a few sweeps to try to get it to lay flatter, then turned to Allison.

“Number Three, where is your mask?”

“Upstairs,” she replied.

“Go retrieve it.”

“...do I really need it?”

Everyone craned their heads in disbelief to stare at her.

“Everyone knows who we are, where we live, even.  After missions, there’s always a big crowd outside.  ...our identities are sort of out there, already… aren’t they?”

Everyone’s eyes widened, and then looked over at Reginald.  (Their masks concealed the trail of their gaze, of course.)

“Do _not_ question my methods, Number Three!” barked Reginald in a raised voice.  He thumped his cane on the floor, then pointed with it. “Now go retrieve your mask!”

Allison turned and hurried up the stairs.  Vanya was waiting at the top, Allison’s mask already in her hands; Allison whispered a thank-you, grabbed it, and ran back down to fall into line.

They passed their second inspection and Reginald took them to the car and drove them to a fancy hotel room where the interview was being held.

“Wow, all the Hargreeves, under one roof!  It’s a real pleasure!” said their interviewer as they all settled onto chairs opposite to hers.

“Well, not all of us are here,” said Allison.

“Yeah.  We’re missing one of our siblings,” said Ben.

“...Five,” said Diego.

“...Five,” they all murmured, nodding.

They felt it was important to remind people that they weren’t the only members of the Umbrella Academy, and just because Five wasn’t there didn’t mean that he didn’t count.

The interview followed a very typical format.  The interviewer was especially interested in two of their most recent missions, which had been in the industrial district downtown; a string of arsons targeting warehouses and storage units containing sensitive tax documents had emerged that spring, and the kids had hurried into several burning buildings to make sure no one was there to get hurt.  (Fortunately, no one had been. The warehouses were quite empty.)

The current suspicion they had was that the fires were caused the The Entropy Institute.  A rather fancy name for a manor upstate that held a single man, three children, and a disembodied AI system that ran their house, The Entropy Institute had been founded at the same time as the Umbrella Academy in more or less the same manner.  Its founder, Wiley Tollhouse Latrick, had gotten three of the 43 children of the phenomenon, dubbing them Students A, B, and C. (Or, as they were known to the media, Shifter, Pyro, and Warp Lass.) Their mission was to create a freer world by fighting "oppressive institutions."  (The irony of their name was palpable.) Unfortunately, Warp Lass had disappeared when they were fourteen and they’d gone on a two-year hiatus, presumably because it was hard to call themselves a “team” when they had only two members. They had re-emerged the previous year with a new companion, Student D.  (Also known as Tilt.) Tilt had been born on October 1st, 1989. On the sixteenth hour. After a normal, nine-month pregnancy.

No one believed Tilt had powers except perhaps Wiley.  He insisted that Wiley’s power was super-intelligence; she had built many marvelous inventions, most notably a pair of magnetic gauntlets with which she could manipulate metallic items.  (Her favorite was ball bearings.) Her name came from her tendencies to throw these small, metal balls in the paths of her enemies to incapacitate them; they’d slip, wobble, tilt, and usually end up falling over.  She could recall the balls and direct them, making her a deadly distraction in battle.

Shifter could alter the states of things, boiling or freezing liquids instantly, and liquifying solids at a touch.  Pyro, of course, set fires, something Klaus secretly thought was very cool. (Unbeknownst to Klaus, Pyro thought Séance was the coolest member of the Umbrella Academy and had a poster of him on her wall.)

The two schools butted heads a few times a year, usually in spring when crime fighting was slow.  This year was no different; the warehouses which had been set ablaze housed tax and mortgage records and, once burned, let a lot of small business and homeowners off the hook for impending bills.  Reginald viewed this a grave and personal insult, as he considered himself proof that capitalism worked.

To the absolute delight of the reporter from _Culture Now_ , they received an alert mid-way through the interview that there had been a break-in at a bank and some familiar characters were there.

When they arrived, the building was already engulfed in flames.  The five of them charged in, leaving Reginald and the reporter to watch from the sidewalk with the rest of the crowd.

“Pyro!” yelled Luther, pointing dramatically in the flaming lobby.

“Spaceboy!” countered Pyro, turning and holding up a plume of flame.  “You’re too late; the records here have been destroyed!”

“You won’t get away with this!” said Diego, shaking his fist and coughing slightly because of the smoke. 

Outside, a worried crowd watched the building and the outlines of the children inside. 

A ruddy-faced, portly man in a derby hat elbowed his way to the front, to stand beside Reginald.

“Reginald,” he greeted him stiffly.

“Wiley.”

The two watched as Luther, Shifter, Ben, and Allison crashed through a front window and rolled around on the sidewalk in front of the burning building as the crowd gasped.

“It took you a rather long time to discover that we were responsible.”

Reginald scoffed.  “I wouldn’t call you ‘responsible.’  And further, I knew from the very first fire you were the culprits.  But we had more important villains to tend to. So sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Did you receive my holiday card?”

“I don’t recall.”

Pyro lit a car on fire and threw Klaus against it.  Klaus rolled away, patting flames off of himself; Diego leaped onto Pyro’s back and tried to stab her.  Shifter reached in and melted the blade of his knife; Luther punched Shifter.

“Say, I didn’t see any of your Thoroughbreds at the Derby this year,” observed Wiley.

“Oh?  Did one of yours race?”

“...yes, yes, placed fifth.”

“There’s hardly any glory in fifth.”

“Well, it’s better than not racing at all.”

“A platitude suited for a man who placed fifth.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve sold Victor’s Lionheart?” pressed Wiley.

“He’s been sent out to stud.”

“Ah.”

Tilt surfed into the street on a wave of ball bearings, one gloved hand outstretched. With a yell she flung another handful of ball bearings on the ground.

“You know, it doesn’t count,” said Reginald, frowning.

Luther ran after Tilt, slipped, fell, and let out a yell, landing on his arm with an audible crunch.  The crowd let out a massive “oooo” of sympathy. The building creaked, threatening to collapse, still aflame.

“My Student D has taken out your Number One,” said Wiley, a bit smugly.

“It doesn’t count,” insisted Reginald petulantly.

Luther struggled to get up, sliding all over the ground.

“Oh!  Did you hear of the Foxtrot cocktail party this weekend?”

“Ah, yes.  I was hoping to speak to Admiral Foxtrot regarding the recent dip in automobile stocks.”

“Dreadful, dreadful.”

The crowd moved at the sound of sirens.  Allison and Pyro throttled each other briefly; Ben and Shifter rolled around in the glass scattered on the concrete sidewalk.

“TILT!” yelled Pyro and Shift.

Tilt flung more ball bearings, throwing everyone off balance.  Shifter and Pyro ran away, the ball bearings surrounding them parting like the Red Sea for Moses; Tilt recalled her ball bearings, shoving them hastily into a pouch on her utility belt, and ran after her siblings.

The bank collapsed in a massive fireball of smoke and flame.

“Well, ta-ta, Reginald.  You were too late this time.  Perhaps next fire?” said Wiley, as the three children ran up to him panting and covered in soot.

“Enjoy your fleeting success while it lasts, Wiley.  I doubt it will be long,” scoffed Reginald.

Wiley and the three children scurried off to get aboard their rocket-powered hot air balloon.  The crowd watched them fly off as the police arrived in a blare of red-and-blue sirens.

The Umbrella Academy reported what they had seen; their eyebrows were singed off and Luther was cradling his left wrist against his body like a bird with an injured wing.  They found out later it was broken, and he would have to spend the next eight weeks in a plaster.

According to Reginald, they would have apprehended the culprits if they had been on time, and it was Allison’s insolence that had made that particular mission go so badly; most mission failures, he said, were a result of “a lack of cohesion exemplified by Number Three's recent insubordinate tendencies."

* * *

A week later, another fire broke out, and the kids donned their masks and ran to the car.

When they arrived at the burning building, which was down by the docks, they all piled out and went running in.  (Their eyebrows still hadn’t grown back.)

Their annual spring conflict with the Entropy Institute had been a tradition since they were thirteen.  They’d won the key to the city when they were thirteen and again when they were fourteen. Then Warp Lass disappeared and there were the two quiet years.  Now that their arch-nemeses were back, they were eager to rekindle the tradition of apprehending them. There were several trophy cases around the house that had open slots waiting for another key.

“Pyro!” yelled Luther, pointing dramatically as he entered the building.

“Spaceboy!” countered Pyro, turning and holding up a plume of flame.  “You’re too late; the records here have been destroyed!”

“We’ll see about that!” said Allison, and the eight children lunged at each other.

Luther grabbed a metal trash can and hurled it at Shifter; he ducked, but it didn’t matter, because the trash can froze in mid-air.  Behind Shifter, Tilt had her hands raised, her large armored gloves thrumming. With a flick of her wrists, she flung the trashcan aside, and it plowed into Diego instead.

Pyro flung a ball of fire at Ben, who dove behind a fake potted plant; apparently, whatever synthetic it was made of was highly flammable, because it erupted into flames.

“I heard a ru--” began Allison.

She was interrupted with an unholy, shrill, impossibly high-pitched shriek.  She (and everyone else) clamped their hands over their ears, crying out in protest.

Tilt cackled; she was holding up a small button with a wire that trailed down to a box on her belt.  "How do you like my acoustic nullifier? It's activated by the sound of your voice, Rumor!"

“Séance!  Get that thing off of Tilt!” yelled Luther.

“Aye-aye, Captain!” said Klaus.  “Kraken, cover me!”

“...you could’ve given us earplugs, too, you know,” said Shifter with obvious annoyance.  He and Pyro had been just as disabled by the loud siren as the Umbrella Academy.

Tilt shrugged.

Shifter put his hands to the ground and the epoxy floor instantly turned to goo; everyone yelled and struggled against the sticky floor.  It was too late for Shifter, however; Luther had reached him and placed a hold on him.

Shifter managed to slap a hand on the floor, turning it back into resin, partially immobilizing Luther and Allison.

Diego flung a knife at Tilt; it severed the wire between the button and the noise box on her belt.  “Rumor, now!” he yelled.

Above her head, Pyro grew a deadly plume to bring down upon Allison.

“I heard a rumor that--” began Allison but she was interrupted when a spin kick from behind knocked Pyro to the floor. 

“Wait,” called Luther, pointing.

Luther had Shifter in a headlock, and Tilt had just finished picking up Klaus with an anti-gravity gun and flinging him into Diego, but everyone had paused; a young boy wearing a black balaclava had appeared.

“Go away, Trevor,” said Luther, maintaining a firm squeeze on Shifter with his cast.  (Shifter could have liquefied the plaster but there was a general unspoken rule amongst the kids not to mess with previous injuries, since someone usually ended up needing stitches or a cast after their fights.)

Shifter managed to choke out an agreement with Luther.

“My name,” said Trevor, striking a wide stance and crossing his arms, “is Redeemer.  And we’re here to help with the evacuation.” Several more teens in matching black balaclavas dropped from the ceiling beside him, striking various poses that were clearly meant to impress.

“Everyone’s already evacuated,” observed Allison.

“I wouldn’t set a fire to hurt people,” aded Pyro, sounding offended.

“Well, then, we’re here to help contain the fire to minimize collateral damage.”

“Trevor, you guys are just kids.  It’s dangerous here,” said Ben. “You have to go outside.”

“But we’re honor-bound,” protested Trevor.

The Umbrella Academy and the Entropy Institute had another unspoken agreement that any time the Shōkan orphans showed up, their fights came to a temporary cease-fire until they could shoo them away.

The Shōkan Home for Orphaned Youth (previously the Roy McClintock Foster Center) had somewhere between ten and twelve members, none of whom had any superpowers but who had trained under their headmaster, Master Hiroshi-san (formally Mr. Roy McClintock), in the art of ju-jitsu, and they frequently crashed, uninvited, into important Academy business wearing their ridiculous matching ninja get-ups.  The Academy children felt sorry for them; Roy McClintock was clearly a dangerous man who cared more for glory than his children’s welfare, and the children seemed brainwashed into believing they were actually doing good.  He strutted around in a white gi with a look of smug superiority, as if he weren't playing with children's lives.

“Do you need help gathering evidence?” asked Trevor, their leader.  Behind Klaus, a few support beams crumbled, setting up a spray of embers.  The fire crackled industriously.

“No,” said Luther and Shifter together.

“Even if we did, you guys aren’t cops,” added Ben.

“Neither are you!”

“We’re _practically_ cops,” said Diego, sheathing his knives.  “C’mon, let’s get you out of here…”

“Okay, we’ll escort you out,” said a girl behind Trevor.

Amid much protest, eighteen children escorted one another outside.

The gawking crowd outside cheered, clearly assuming that the Umbrella Academy had saved the rest from the fire.

There were already two police cars on the scene; one of the officers frowned at Trevor and the gang, and said into his walkie-talkie, “The McClintocks are here again.  Get their case worker down here.”

“We’re honor-bound!” protested Trevor.

“Alright, son, sit down,” said the police officer as he attempted to corral Trevor and the others towards a police van. With surprising agility they each jumped onto a nearby fire escape and soon had disappeared onto the roof. "Stop!" insisted the officer, drawing his weapon to no effect. Diego drew a knife instinctively, but Luther placed a hand across his chest. They were already gone.

Diego lowered his knife, frowning.  “Those kids are gonna get hurt someday,” he said, wiping a trickle of blood from his eye.  (An abrasion on his forehead was bleeding.)

The police officer nodded to Diego and touched his hat.  “Kraken,” he greeted him.

“Okay, I think we have another six minutes before the building collapses.  You didn’t use an accelerant, did you?” asked Allison, checking her watch.

“Bitch, I am an accelerant,” said Pyro.

“Language!” called Wiley from the crowd.

The police officer blew a whistle.  “Okay, everyone, step back! This building is going to go in only a few minutes!”

“You heard him.  We’ve only got a few minutes left on the clock,” said Luther.

The orphans safe, the Academy and the Institute ran back inside and went back to battling.  In the brief interruption from the Shōkan orphans, Tilt had swiped one of Diego’s knives with her gauntlets, stripped away the insulation on the broken wires, and twisted together the severed connection; the moment Allison spoke, the siren went off again, temporarily paralyzing everyone, and grabbing her brother and sister, Tilt hurried out of the building to make a getaway.

The Umbrella Academy recovered quickly and ran after them, but they were already aboard the Turbolloon, which rose slowly, almost peacefully into the air until it had cleared all of the nearby buildings, at which point Wiley hit the rockets and jetted them off to safety.

* * *

One guaranteed method to put Reginald in a sour mood was to interrupt dinner.  Dinner was a quiet, sacred time.

When the alarms went off in the middle of it, everyone jumped a little, and Ben dropped his book onto his plate. 

“Master Reginald.  There’s a fire at the county clerk’s office,” Pogo informed Reginald soberly.

Reginald pulled his napkin from his neck and threw it onto his half-finished meal in irritation.  “Very well. Perhaps this time, you will all be able to apprehend that meddlesome pair of criminals.”

“There’s three,” said Klaus automatically.  (Ben kicked him under the table in warning.)

“Excuse me?” demanded Reginald.

“There’s… there’s three of them.”

“Yeah, they got Tilt.  They wouldn’t keep escaping if they didn’t have Tilt,” said Diego meekly.

Reginald’s eyes widened as far as they could without dropping his monocle.  “Oh, so it’s _Student D_ who is preventing your success, is it?  Shall I send along Number _Seven_ to aid you?  Would _that_ level the playing field?”

Everyone cringed.

“No, Dad, we can take care of it,” insisted Luther.

“Yeah, we can handle her,” added Allison.

“Sorry, Dad,” murmured Vanya.

“Don’t mumble,” snapped Reginald, storming off.

Everyone hurried away from their unfinished dinners to go upstairs to change.  Sensing Reginald’s impatience, they were done in record time, and they piled into the car before even Reginald was ready.  (Diego and Luther had a brief fight over who got to drive, with Luther winning.)

The only one of them who didn’t drive was Klaus.  The last time he had been behind the wheel, when he was thirteen, he had swerved suddenly and slammed into a letter box.  Unbeknownst to everyone else, he had swerved to avoid a man who had walked out in front of the car.

The man had run up to the driver’s side window in alarm to ask if everyone was okay, then reeled backward when Klaus turned to look him in the eyes.

“ _You can see me?_ ” he said in delight, then snapped his fingers in sudden understanding.  “Oh, hey! You’re Klaus, right? Oh, man, you’re legendary. Hey, listen, I wrote my will out before I died but no one’s found it yet and I want to make sure my son gets ahold of it.  It’s tucked into the Book of Psalms on the shelf in my study. Could you-- hey, where are you going?”

At this point, Klaus had already opened the door, bailed out, and taken off running down the block, leaving everyone (his siblings, Reginald, and the ghost) calling after him.

In response, Reginald had shifted the focus of Klaus’s training to overcome his fear of ghosts, with field trips to mausoleums, morgues, and hospice wards.  The appearance of the Séance in hospital wards led to a slight uptick in deaths from frail patients who recognized him, and Reginald was promptly banned from Argyle Regional Hospital, which was just as well, as he had never once taken any of the children there except Klaus.

The success of Klaus’s “exposure training” was questionable at best, and Klaus never drove again, because no one could trust him not to crash the car.

In any case it didn’t matter because Luther and Diego always fought over who got to drive, and it was rare anyone else got behind the wheel, aside from Reginald, of course.

“I would’ve made that light,” grumbled Diego from the back of the car, crossing his arms and slouching as Luther idled at a red light.  Ahead of them, they could see plumes of smoke rising from the county clerk’s office.

“Okay, team.  Here’s the strategy,” said Luther loudly, ignoring him.  “Number Two, you use your knives to disable Tilt’s acoustic nullifier.  Once she’s out, try to find out where the Turbolloon is, and puncture it so they can’t escape.  Number Three, Four, distract Shifter so he can’t protect Tilt. Number Six, you and me’ll take on Pyro.”

Everyone murmured their agreement to this plan.

Luther hit the gas when the light turned and they arrived with a dramatic squeal of the tires.  Everyone leaped out of the car; the crowd of onlookers cheered.

“Pyro!” yelled Luther, pointing dramatically as he entered the building.

“Spaceboy!” countered Pyro, turning and holding up a plume of flame.  “You’re too late; the records here have been destroyed!”

“We’ll see about--” began Klaus.

“We’ll _see about that!”_ declared Ben over Klaus.  Klaus shot Ben a glare and Ben shrugged an apology.  And then the eight children lunged at each other.

Tilt ripped a water fountain from the wall using her magna-gauntlets and flung it toward Luther.  It slammed into him and he let out a yell. Shifter plunged his hands into the water erupting from the broken plumbing and the water on the floor instantly froze into a slick, flat plane of ice.  Shifter let out a whine of pain as the ice encased his hands, and Pyro hurried over to melt the ice away from them and free him. She had time to spare; Ben, Klaus, and Allison were all sliding comically over the ice, and Luther was clearly still dazed from getting knocked aside with the water fountain.

Diego, unlike the rest, didn’t try to move, nor did he have to.  He stabbed one knife into the ice below him to steady himself and then flung another with his other hand.  It swerved in the air and cut through a pair of wires dangling at Tilt’s side.

“Rumor!” he yelled.

“I heard a rumor that your magna-gauntlets are broken!” she shouted.

“Don’t listen to her, Tilt!  They’re fine!” shouted Pyro.

“Let me check.  I think they might be broken,” said Tilt worriedly, taking off one of her gloves.

“Tilt, no!”

“Horror, now!” yelled Luther.

Ben yanked open the midsection of his jumpsuit.  Nothing happened.

“Horror!”

“...I don’t think They like the cold.”  One tentacle slithered out of Ben’s torso, tentatively touched the ice on the ground, then smashed it and recoiled back into his body.

“ _Horror_!”

“I heard a rumor that-- that you’re tired of Wiley telling you what to do!” yelled Allison.

Shifter, Pyro, and Tilt all froze.

Their shoulders slumped.

“...guys, pause,” said Shifter, looking up at Luther.  He looked down at his uniform. “...I feel ridiculous.”

“Why are we fighting inside of a burning building?” added Pyro.

“These masks are stupid.”  Shifter pulled off his domino mask.

“Yeah, this doesn’t make any sense at all.  Screw this. Let’s go to Burger King,” agreed Tilt, pulling off her mask too.

Shifter reached down to liquify the ice, and the three walked out docily, with the Umbrella Academy following behind them smugly.  On the steps of the county clerk’s office, they waved to the crowd, which cheered and waved posters at them in reply.

The police stepped in to arrest the three students of the Entropy Institute.

“Wait.  What-- what are you doing?” protested Pyro in confusion, still dazed by Allison’s powers.

“Can we go by Burger King on the way to jail?” asked Tilt hopefully.

“Hey.  You fought hard.  But crime never pays,” said Luther, sticking out a hand.  Shifter shook it before one of the policemen handcuffed him.

“We’ll be back before next sprint.”

“And we’ll always be waiting at the ready.”

Dozens of flashbulbs went off in the crowd as photographers grabbed pictures of Luther and Shifter squaring off.

Because the members of the Entropy Institute were minors, they always got off with house arrest and parole, which usually lasted one year.  Most of the tourism brochures and city guides for Argygle explicitly advertised late spring and early summer as “superhero season” and advised that this was the best time to catch the Umbrella Academy thwarting crimes about the city.

On the car ride home, they all laughed and talked about how ridiculous those Entropy kids had looked when Allison had rumored them.  They fell silent as they drove past a Burger King; a cop car was pulling into the drive-through, and their three nemeses were waving to them from the back window.

* * *

Years later, Klaus would bump into Tilt at a local dive bar.

“Séance!”

“Tilt!”

The two would tense, then relax, laughing at the ridiculousness of their reaction to each other.  Klaus would buy her a beer and they’d end up spending the night together, ditching the bar for an EDM house party, where they would sit on the balcony passing a bottle of codeine cough syrup back and forth, and reminiscing about how their fathers had messed them up.

Klaus would offer his condolences that Tilt had never gotten a marshmallow and Tilt would shrug and say that a round, grey marshmallow in the shape of a ball-bearing wouldn’t have been very appetizing, anyway.

Wiley had a brand of breakfast cereal called “Dr. Derby’s Sugar-Frosted Smarties.”  There were three marshmallow shapes: a red-and-gold flame for Pyro, a white-and-blue drop of liquid for Shifter, and a swirling blue-and-purple portal for Warp Lass.  After Warp Lass had disappeared, the cereal had remained unchanged, even when Tilt was brought in to replace her. Tilt marshmallows had never appeared on the market, though Tilt had enjoyed a collectible plastic spoon in 2007.  (Having four spoons instead of three meant more cereal sales.)

Klaus admittedly thought Dr. Derby’s Sugar-Frosted Smarties were an objectively better cereal than Clever Crisps.  Then again, everyone knew that Reginald had only invented Clever Crisps for the purpose of trademarking the mascot “Mr. Monocle.”  Years ago, the Argygle City High School had voted on a mascot and chosen Mr. Monocle. That year, a person in a large foam head in a monocle and a top hat appeared at every game, much to the delight of the crowd.  Reginald was furious at the caricature (adding to Pogo that it ought to be _Sir_ Monocle, as he had a knighthood), and sued the school district for mocking him.  Though they were able to defend the mascot as parody, the legal fees required to go up against Reginald Hargreeves had shut down their marching band program, and they ended up changing their name to The Fightin’ Pumas, even though Dr. Derby offered up his own likeness if they wanted to keep a human mascot.

Klaus and Tilt (who now went by Hui Li) would bid each other adieu at sunrise, and Klaus would never see Hui Li again.  He did not know what became of Pyro (now Padma) or Shifter (now Sven), either. Some said Pyro went off and joined the circus, and Shifter moved to Colorado and was working for a marijuana dispensary.  Others said Pyro had hung herself and Shifter had developed a severe case of agoraphobia that prevented him from leaving the Institute’s manor house. Klaus had been concerned enough about Pyro to try to conjure her, but he hadn’t been able to, so it was his hope that she was off touring with a circus somewhere, after all.


	13. Zoo Heist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone following, sorry for the LONG wait for an update. I'm in a Master's program for journalism and was dealing with end-of-the-term assignments. The quarter is now over and I hope to be able to finish this work over the summer. Thanks for your readership! - Tony
> 
> PS: Rhinos are like big grey puppies. In case you are wondering what sound rhinos make, and why Ben should feel extra-bad about scaring one, here's a YouTube clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LNCC6ZYI3SI

July began with fireworks.

There was a letter in the mail addressed to “Six Hargreeves,” and Diego stormed into snacktime with it in his hand, throwing it onto the table like it was some sort of disgusting evidence of a crime.

Ben looked up from his book.

“What is this?” demanded Diego in a dangerously soft tone.

Ben shifted a little uncomfortably.  “...I dunno,” he mumbled, looking down.

“What,” repeated Diego, even softer and more challengingly, “is _this_?”

Ben squirmed under the scrutiny.  “ ‘ceptance letter,” he finally mumbled, almost inaudible.

Klaus grabbed his bowl just in time; Diego slammed his hands on the table so hard that everyone’s dishes jumped, and Vanya’s glass of apple juice fell and spilled.

“ _Diego_!” scolded Grace, stepping over with a washcloth to mop up the mess.  

“That’s Ben’s mail!  Give it to him!” demanded Allison, standing up fiercely.

“What the hell is the matter with you two?  Don’t you have better things to do than live in some stupid fantasy world?  We’re heroes and the city needs us--”

“Well, we can go to Argyle City College for the first two years before we transfer to UCLA, and we won’t even need to leave home, we can live here and just go to classes during the day and we can still help fight crime and stuff,” protested Ben.  Clearly, he and Allison had discussed plans. Luther looked like he’d been slapped in the face; apparently, these plans had not been discussed with him.

Diego’s fists were still balled up, and the line of his shoulders was tight, but he no longer seemed imminently about to flip the table.  “No one’s going anywhere,” he snarled.

“I heard a rumor that you gave Ben his mail,” said Allison.

Automatically, Diego extended the envelope.  Ben reached out and snatched it away before Diego could come to his senses.

“I thought you were just messing around,” said Luther in a low voice.

“We turn eighteen in three months.  Aren’t any of you guys thinking about that?” asked Allison.

“No,” spat Diego.

“I think it would be educational for us to go out into the world, have some new experiences.”

Ben nodded.

“If Dad thought we needed--” began Luther.

“We already go out into the world all the time!” protested Diego.  He jabbed a finger at Allison. “You’re playing with fire, Three. It was bad enough before you dragged Ben into it!”

“She didn’t drag me. _I_ asked _her_ about it,” protested Ben.  Diego ignored him. He and Allison were squaring off and looked imminently ready to fling themselves across the table.  (Klaus had already moved his cereal bowl into his lap and was eating slowly, eyes darting between them expectantly.)

“If you want to stay in this house forever and play soldiers with Daddy, be my guest.  Some of us have lives to live,” hissed Allison.

“Now, really, kids, all this squabbling,” scolded Grace as she moved Ben’s book from the puddle of apple juice on the table; her first towel hadn’t gotten all of it and she’d swooped back in with a new cloth.  “Over a silly little piece of paper. Don’t you think you’re over-reacting, Diego, dear? And Allison, I expect you to be nicer to your brother. You kids are a team.”

The two glared at each other for a second longer before Grace put her hands on her hips and ahem-ed at them; they looked away to mumble apologies, but sat at opposite ends of the table and didn’t speak for days.

* * *

Though Diego wasn’t speaking to Allison, Luther sought her out during the next available study period.  “Knock knock,” he said gently, leaning in her doorway. She looked up from her desk where she had been writing an essay on the Geneva Convention. 

“Hey,” she said, smiling.

“You’re not really going to college, are you?” asked Luther with a pained expression.

Allison’s eyes softened and she sighed, closing one of the textbooks in front of her.  She raked her fingers through her hair. “It’s Argyle City. I wouldn’t be going far, at least not for the first two years.”

“And then what?  You’re gonna move to California?  ...Allison, the team needs you,” said Luther.  He pushed off the door frame and walked into her room, sitting on the edge of her bed, looking up at her like a lost puppy.  “We do everything together. If we needed college, I’m sure Dad would enroll us.”

“Maybe I don’t _need_ college.  But I want to do something other than being a superhero for a while,” said Allison gently, turning her chair to face Luther.  She didn’t get up to join him on the bed.

Luther set his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands, looking down at them.  “Without me?” he asked.

“...Luther, the college is twelve miles away.  It’s not like I’m going to the moon. I’ll be here for everything except classes.  And it’s not too late for you to apply. The whole Umbrella thing… it was super easy to get in.”

Luther was already shaking his head.  “No. I don’t want to go. ...I could never leave here.  You couldn’t get me to go away for four years. This is our home, Allison.  And Diego’s right. People need us more than we need college.”

Allison offered him a pained smile.  “Well… they’ll always have you,” she said softly.

“And what’ll I have?  ...Pogo?”

“Luther, I promise I’m not leaving for good.  I’ll always come back. I just want to be in a class with more than five people in it for once.”

Luther didn’t look up from his hands, twisting them uncomfortably.  Finally, he said, “And Ben?”

“I’ll look after Ben.”

“What if you guys hate it?”

“Well, then, we won’t go back.  Come on, don’t act like Diego. Taking a few classes away from home isn’t a big deal.  You and Diego go on patrol a couple nights a week. It’ll be like that.”

Luther finally looked up.  He forced a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  Allison got up and walked over to wrap her arms around his head.  She hugged it. “Maybe we’ll even foil some crimes on campus. I heard a rumor there’s a lot of campus crime; it’ll be good for Argyle City to have a couple of us keeping an eye on things.”

Luther hummed against her shirt.  “...so long as you come back.”

“Sure, I will.  Ben’ll make me. Don’t worry.”

* * *

Despite the simmering tension in the household, the six teens were still expected to act as a unit, especially for missions.  When the alarms went off in the midst of their rhetoric class, everyone got up and filed out. (Klaus looked relieved; Allison had been annihilating him in a debate about the handling of the Cuban missile crisis.  He was having difficulty understanding JFK’s ghost because of how badly mangled his head was. JFK seemed overwhelmed by Allison too.)

“The Hitch-Hiker has loosed all of the animals from Argygle City Zoo, and the mayor needs you to capture them before they hurt any citizens!” Reginald shouted in explanation as the teens dispersed into their rooms to change.

“Oh, man, I _hate_ the Hitch-Hiker,” groaned Luther.  The Hitch-Hiker, Madeline Marquette, formerly “The Lockpick,” formerly a Hexette, had been in and out of Shinyview Asylum no less than six times.  She had no discernible M.O. and had been kicked out of the Hexettes for being too volatile; her only real motivation seemed to be chaos. Had Reginald told them someone had let all the animals out of the zoo, most of the Umbrella Academy could have guessed it had been her.

“NUMBER TWO, COMB!” yelled Klaus from his room.  Allison ducked as a a comb came flying out of Diego’s room, turned the corner, flew down the hall, and then turned another corner into Klaus’s room, eliciting an “ow!” when it hit him.

“The animals could get hurt, too,” said Ben worriedly.

“Don’t worry, we’ll round them all up before sunset,” said Luther confidently.  “Most of ‘em are probably hiding, anyway."

No one said it but they were excited to see some exotic animals.  They had never been to the zoo and their only experience with exotic animals was whatever Reginald brought home from safari.

They drove down to the Argyle City Park to meet the zookeeper, who had a list of the missing animals.  The zookeeper was an orangutan named Phil who was clearly aware that being a zookeeper as an orangutan might open him up to cruel jokes and had taken great pains to emphasize his sentience; unlike Pogo, he refused to use a cane, even though it seemed like it would have made walking upright far easier for him, and he had crammed his feet into loafers, even though most apes refused to wear shoes, as they were not designed for ape feet and limited grasping ability.

Phil glared at all of them as he spoke about which animals were missing and emphasized several times that there were no monkeys, even though no one had asked.  Diego seemed relieved by this.

“Should we split up, or do it as a team?” asked Allison when they were done speaking to Phil.  An eager news crew had gathered outside of the gates for Argygle City Park and were eagerly filming them.  The teens ignored them; they had a job to do and Reginald was watching them with a stern expression that clearly communicated that he expected them to behave professionally.

“Well… we can split up for the smaller ones, but we should probably work together for the tiger,” said Luther, examining the list.  He ripped it up into a few pieces and distributed them evenly. Everyone checked theirs.

“ _Hyenas_?!  ...Allison, what did you get?” demanded Klaus, elbowing Ben aside to look over Allison’s list.  “...arctic fox, red pandas, and penguins? Oh my God, switch with me, please!” he begged.

“No way.  I love penguins,” said Allison, clutching her paper to her chest.

“What’s a pangolin?” asked Diego, frowning.  “Klaus, I’ll switch with you. I got pangolins, binturongs, and peacocks.  I don’t knowwhat a binturong is, either.”

“Lemme see yours,” demanded Klaus, trying to swipe at Luther’s segment of the list.  He managed a peek. “ _Sloths_?  You got _sloths_?  C’mon, Luther, trade with me!”

“Mine has giraffes on it, too,” said Luther defensively.

“Well, I’d rather giraffes than hyenas!  Giraffes eat _leaves_!”

“Giraffes can decapitate a lion by kicking it,” said Luther.

“I’d rather get my head kicked off by a giraffe than get torn to pieces by hyenas.  C’mon, switch with me,” whined Klaus.

“No.  Everyone has their portion.  ...if there’s a really big one on your list, like tigers or giraffes, we’ll work on those as a team.”

“Do hyenas count as--” began Klaus.

_“No.”_

Klaus crossed his arms in annoyance.

The team dispersed, and the media hurried after them, yelling questions and waving cameras in their faces, which they stoically ignored.

Klaus made a beeline for the car; he got into the backseat to kick off his shoes and pull out his Ouija board, summoning some ghosts to get tips on where various animals might have been sighted.  He returned with some moderately helpful tips; the giraffes had been spotted, along with a flock of flamingos, moseying down eighth street, and there was a rhino hanging out in the parking lot of a local video store.  Everyone was able to get a few ideas, and they soon dispersed with their lists, as if they were going on some sort of bizarre scavenger hunt. (Diego went to the library to look up what a capybara was, complaining that only his list had such oddities as “gerenuks.”)

“Ben, want to go get some fish at the store?” asked Allison.  “I have penguins, and you have flamingos… we can probably just tempt them with some fish and lead them right back home.”

“Yeah,” said Ben in relief.

“Can I come with?  Do hyenas eat fish?” asked Klaus.

“Hyenas eat everything…”

“Hey, if I help you guys with your birds, can you help me with--"

“No,” they both said.

Klaus sighed and begrudgingly went off on his own.  He decided to start with the smallest animal on his list: the Argyle River Crow.  He kicked off his shoes again once he was out of Reginald’s sight and strolled down the sidewalk, talking to an empty space next to him.  “So, how do I identify this crow?” he asked. He listened for a moment, then frowned. “What do you mean, it’s _indistinguishable_ from a regular crow?  What’s the point of keeping it at the zoo, then?  Are you _kidding_ me?”

Locating the larger animals turned out to be no problem at all.  People were calling into the police to report zebras and polar bears in their yards; with the help of the Argygle City PD, the kids were able to round up most of the zoo animals over the course of only a few hours.  Well-fed and relatively docile, few of the animals gave them any trouble.

Back at the zoo, Luther and Diego bumped into each other; Luther had lassoed several giraffes and was leading them back; Diego was leading a massive goat with huge, curled horns.

“What’s that, some sort of yak?” asked Luther.

“A markhor, apparently,” said Diego bitterly.  “Listen, now that Ben’s gone, let’s talk deets.  There’s a tiger and a rhino loose in the city and Dad has a bunch of big game guns in his study.  I say we just--”

“I don’t think the citizens would like that,” interrupted Luther.

“They won’t like getting trampled by a rhino or eaten by a tiger, either.  It’s our job to protect them by any means necessary.”

“Maybe we could tranq them,” mused Luther.  “Same idea, just less blood.”

“If we just, like, tape some darts onto weights, I could throw them and--”

“Yeah, yeah!”  Luther was nodding.  

Behind them, Klaus walked past, a small murder of crows perched on his head and shoulders.  “Are any of _these_ an Argyle River Crow?” he asked Phil desperately.  (It was his third return; each time he’d come back with more crows.)

“No,” said Phil.

Klaus swore and shooed the birds away; they cawed indignantly, circled, and tried to settle on him again; he had made the mistake of feeding them and they were clearly aware that there was more food in the bag he was holding.

Ben and Allison had agreed to work together for most of the afternoon, much to Diego’s and Luther’s chagrin; they needed Allison to come with them to Argyle Hospital to get some sedatives to use on the animals, but didn’t want to suggest lobbing darts at the animals around Ben, who was clearly having a great time.  (The last they had seen him, he was giggling as lemurs crawled all over him.)

As they rounded up more and more of the “easy” animals, however, it became increasingly obvious that they were ignoring the tiger problem.  Their powers were not really attuned to capturing a tiger, but the Umbrella Academy was dispatched based on when it was needed, not on whether or not a problem aligned with their abilities.

“Okay, guys, we really need to talk about the tiger,” said Luther as they regrouped mid-afternoon.  

“No one wanted to help me with the vampire bats or the hyenas, but sure, let’s all cooperate with the tiger,” grumbled Klaus, trying to brush a crow off his shoulder.  A small entourage of birds was still following him expectantly.

Luther ignored him.  “Obviously we don’t want to hurt the tiger if we can help it, but we also need to be aware that it’s really dangerous.  So what we’re thinking is, Allison, you go to the hospital and pick up a bunch of sedatives, and Diego can throw them at the tiger once we find it.”

“How about we just lure it into a cage with some bait?” suggested Ben.

Luther, Diego, and Allison looked over at Klaus.

Klaus’s eyes widened.  “Why do I have to be bait?”

“Well, you already dealt with the hyenas,” said Allison reasonably.

“No, I haven’t!”

Their discussion came to a halt as screams arose from across the street.  Everyone turned, heads perking, not unlike the group of meerkats Ben and Allison had recently gently shooed back past the zoo gates.

A large silverback gorilla was strutting down the sidewalk.  It walked over to an ice cream cart that had been abandoned by its owner, tried to open the little tray to access the ice cream, and finding it tricky to do so, grew frustrated and pushed the cart over as if it were made of paper.

“You said there were no monkeys!” hissed Allison, rounding on Phil.

“A gorilla isn’t a monkey!”

“How is it not a monkey?!”

“Because it isn’t! I’m the zookeeper; I think I know what constitutes an monkey,” snipped Phil, picking a bug off of his arm and flicking it away.

“Guys, come on!” yelled Luther.

The five teens pelted across the sidewalk and stood side-by-side, blocking the gorilla’s path; it didn’t stop walking toward them.  In fact, it barely seemed to notice them.

“Rumor, can you rumor it to turn around?” asked Luther.

“My powers don’t work on animals!”

“Yeah, but on an ape--”

“He’s not an intelligent talking ape.  He’s just an ape.”

“Well, can you _try_?”

“I heard a rumor that you wanted to go back to your cage!” called Allison.

The gorilla picked up a bicycle that was laying on the ground and casually threw it across the street; it narrowly missed a cameraman who was filming the superhero/gorilla stand-off.

“Quick, Horror!  Stop it before it comes any closer!”

“I don’t want to hurt him!”

“Number Six!”

“I can’t!”

“ _Ben_!”

The gorilla knuckle-walked over to them.  Klaus shrank back; Diego’s eyes widened. The gorilla rose onto its hind legs; it was about five inches shorter than Luther, who was the tallest, but far wider, and probably weighed about four hundred pounds.  Its arms were pure muscle; its fingers were as wide around as sausages.

It snorted at them.

“Spaceboy, do something!” hissed Diego.

Luther cocked a hand back and punched the gorilla.  It let out a roar, revealing a massive pair of fangs, reached out, grabbed Luther by the arm, and flung him through the nearest shop window.

Klaus grabbed Ben by the collar of his jumpsuit and the two dove behind a news stand.  Diego ran to a tree on the sidewalk and jumped into it; Allison ran to the nearest car, tried to get in, found it locked, and tried the next one, which was thankfully unlocked.

“Diego, you idiot!  Gorillas can climb trees!” shrieked Klaus.

“Shit!  Shit!” exclaimed Diego from his tree.

The gorilla stomped over to the window to find Luther; he was rising, brushing glass off of himself.  He charged and so did the gorilla; he ducked a blow and landed another one on the gorilla’s ear, prompting another roar.  “Guys, will you please _help me_?” he yelled, jumping onto the gorilla’s back and trying to get it into a headlock.

“You’re getting clobbered just fine on your own!” called Klaus.

The gorilla took several shakes to get Luther loose; one of his legs slipped, and the gorilla snagged Luther by the ankle and slammed his body twice against the pavement; everyone heard Allison’s scream from inside the car.  Luther somehow managed to twist and grab the gorilla’s wrist; he twisted the skin, giving it an Indian burn, something he’d learned from Diego a week prior. The gorilla tried to bite him; he grabbed its jaw and held it open with his hands to keep it from biting down.

“ _KRAKEN_!” 

“Ben, you gotta do something!” hissed Klaus.

“I don’t want to kill a gorilla!  They're endangered!"

“So you’re just gonna let Luther die?”

Ben wrung his hands nervously.  Klaus swore, shoved Ben aside, and rose.

“Hey, monkey!  Here, buddy! C’mere!”  He threw a few bottles of water at it from the news stand.

It looked up with a snort and dropped Luther, giving him a solid punch to the back of the head.  He didn’t get up.

“Oh shit,” said Klaus as the gorilla began walking toward him.  “Are gorillas fast?”

“Yeah, they run super fast,” said Ben.

“Shit.  Is Jane Goodall dead yet?”

“No.”

“Shit!”  Klaus turned and ran.  The gorilla broke into a jog after him.  Diego slid down from his tree and ran after them.

The crowd of onlookers who had been on the other side of the street screamed and scattered as Klaus, the charging gorilla, and Diego ran toward them.

“Go to its cage, Four!  Go to its cage!” yelled Diego.

“I don’t wanna die by gorilla!” wailed Klaus, scurrying into the zoo.  The gorilla broke into a proper run just as Klaus reached the gorilla habitat, which was a large pit; Klaus vaulted over the waist-high barrier and the gorilla ran after him.  

Diego ran up to the side and peered down.

The gorilla was pacing back and forth furiously, looking up.  Diego followed its gaze; Klaus was frozen mid-air, levitating above the pit.

_“You can float?”_

_“I don’t know; I guess?!”_   Klaus seemed just as surprised as Diego that he hadn't hurled himself to his death.

“Are you wearing a levitation belt?  How are you floating?” demanded Diego.

“Search me.  I didn’t know I could float,” said Klaus, twisting in the air like it was water.

“Stop screwing around and get over here.  We have to go check on One.”

“...I don’t know how to, um, move.  ...I’m stuck.”

“You don’t know how to get down?”  Diego sighed. He removed his shoes, undid the laces, and tied them together, then threw one end to Klaus to grab.  Klaus snagged it gratefully, looking down nervously at the gorilla below him, and let Diego tug him over to the edge.  He grabbed the barrier and collapsed gratefully onto the ground.

“Do you know how useful floating is?  Do it again!” demanded Diego.

“I can’t.  I don’t even know how I did it before," said Klaus with an expansive shrug.  "You know I can't control my powers."

“C’mon, try!”

Klaus jumped up and down.

“...you’re useless," scoffed Diego.

“Hey, I got the gorilla back into his cage!” protested Klaus, padding after Diego.  “I saved Luther’s life… I oughta get a promotion!”

They went back to the street to find the others.  Luther was sitting up, looking dizzy, one eye swollen shut and a large, egg-shaped lump forming on the back of his head.  Allison was crouched next to him, trying to access how bad his concussion was.

“I’m fine.  Where’s Five?  We gotta get the rhino,” said Luther dizzily.

“We don’t have Five anymore, remember?” asked Allison gently.

“...you’re pretty, Three.”

“I know, One.  I know.” She patted his hand.

“Ben, what the hell?” demanded Diego.  “Luther and Klaus nearly got killed!”

Ben wrung his hands.  “I-- I can’t control Them.  I don’t want to kill any endangered animals.  It’s not their fault they’re loose.”

“You disobeyed a direct order, Six.  You _can_ control your powers; you’re just not trying hard enough,” said Luther, turning to glare at Ben.  “Our team needs everyone to work together to be effective.”

Ben looked ready to cry.  “Okay, One. I’m sorry,” he said.

“Guys?  Rhino,” said Allison in alarm.

They all turned; strolling down the street was a rhino.

Everyone looked at Ben.

“But what if I kill it?”

“It could kill _us_ ,” said Diego.  “Come on, Allison, let’s go get some sedatives from the hospital.  You three hold the fort.  Until Allison and I get tranquilizers, Ben, you're in charge of rounding up the big ones.”

“Hey!  I give the orders!” protested Luther.

“You’re concussed, Space.  Let Kraken take over,” advised Klaus.  “Also, did you guys know I can float?”

“Not now, Klaus.  Horror?” directed Diego imperiously.

Ben sighed and, shoulders slumped, walked slowly out into the street.

He looked smaller than usual, standing in the middle of the empty street, a rhino plodding toward him.

He pulled open his jumpsuit; six tentacles erupted from it.  Each ropey coil was as thick around as a coffee can; even from the sidelines, the four others teens could see his fans screwed up in an expression that was half-pain, half-concentration.

The coils flung out; the rhino snorted and broke into a loping charge, but it was too late.  The tentacles wrapped around it fluidly and tightened, and without ceremony, lifted it into the air.  Its legs flailed helplessly; the coils tightened and the beast let out a high-pitched whine like a dog.

“Great job, Horror!” called Luther.

Ben looked over at them, face shining with sweat, his expression painful as the rhino continued its pitiful, helpless cry.  “Just tell me where to take her,” he said through gritted teeth.

Diego went to lead Ben to the zoo; the crowd gathered at the gates oohed and aahed at the sight of Ben single-handedly carrying a fully grown rhino using the bouquet of tentacles erupting from his chest.  They glistened in the sun, dripping a thick, pale mucous.

“I’m sorry,” said Ben as he set the rhino down into its habitat.  The moment its feet hit the ground, it ran, and didn’t look back.

Diego put a hand on Ben’s shoulder.  “Hey. You didn’t hurt her. You just spooked her a little.  It’s okay. ...come on, let’s get the tiger and the elephants and peacocks.”

“Peacocks?” repeated Ben.

Diego held out a hand; it was covered in small red welts.  “Yeah, they’re really mean. Feel free to squeeze ‘em as hard you want.  ...kidding! Kidding!”

Everyone cheered as Diego and Ben walked out of the zoo together.  They tracked down the the kangaroo, and a couple of pandas.  Allison was able to rumor the hospital into giving them some tranquilizers, but by the time she returned with them, the tiger had returned to its cage on its own, proving to be the easiest of the escapees to handle.  By the time the sun was dipping toward the horizon, they were only missing the elephant and the koala.

“How are you holding up, Benny?” asked Klaus sympathetically as Ben sat on the curb to sip a bottle of Gatorade a reporter had given him.  He had turned an ashy color and looked ready to vomit at any moment. The tentacles that were protruding from his torso seemed to be having an equally hard time; they were flailing furiously, as if being denied blood was a grave offense.

“I’m fine,” said Ben in a voice that betrayed his lie.  “It just hurts my stomach. I’ll be okay.”

“We’re nearly done.  We just got two more,” said Luther soothingly.  He was on his feet but was swaying considerably, and Allison kept grabbing his arm to keep him from falling over.  He had procured an ice pack from another friendly reporter and was holding it over his face, which had swollen to almost unrecognizable proportions.

“Hey, Team Umbrella!  They say the elephant’s that way!” called one of the journalists, pointing.

Diego offered Ben a hand.  Ben reached out and grabbed it with both hands and one tentacle, leaving a trail of slime up Diego’s arm.  Diego made a face when Ben wasn’t looking and tried to wipe it off on Klaus.

They walked three blocks and found the elephant drinking from a water fountain outside of National First Bank.

Ben stepped forward with a weak, shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut to concentrate.  The tentacles, which had been whipping around in a violent and uncontrolled manner, stilled in the air.  One outstretched; the elephant raised its head, and then its trunk.

The tentacles gently touched the side of the beast’s face; it ran its trunk over the length of the tentacles with equal grace.  For a moment, the two appendages touched. Then, as docile as a lamb, the elephant coiled its trunk around the end of the tentacle and Ben turned, leaning the creature after him.

“Oh, wow,” breathed Allison.

“Holy shit,” said Diego.

“Did you guys know he had that level of control?” whispered Luther.

“...you _told_ him he did!”

“Well, Dad said he did, but _I_ didn’t know he did!”

“He’d better be careful,” said Klaus.  “Allen Campbell says elephants are prone to sudden fits of rage.”

“Who’s Allen Campbell?” asked Luther.

“Elephant trainer,” replied Klaus. “...who was killed by an elephant.”

They followed Ben back to the zoo; the crowd murmured in awe, parting, as the seventeen-year-old walked serenely through the park’s gates with the elephant following him.

When the elephant had been gently led back to its enclosure, the kids crowded around Ben, as much as they felt they could, considering his midsection was still a writhing mess of pulsing, slippery limbs.

“Wow, Ben!  That was amazing!”

“Great job, Number Six.”

“I told you you could do it, Horror.  You just had to concentrate!”

“I just want to go home,” said Ben, holding his sides in visible discomfort.  “It feels like they’re eating my insides.”

“Well, good news,” said Diego.  “I found the last one.” He pointed.  Everyone looked up. The street lamps had just come on; at the top of a wrought-iron lamp post, a sleepy-looking koala was clinging serenely.  

“I don’t think we need Them for this little guy,” said Klaus.  “We can just throw some rocks at him or something.” (Diego was already picking up pebbles from the ground.)

“Don’t throw rocks at him!” protested Ben.

“Luther, maybe you can hit the lamp post real hard?” suggested Allison.

“Guys, stop!” protested Ben.  

Any further conversation was lost; one of the tentacles suddenly flew out, wrapped itself three times around the iron post, and yanked.  The metal bent with an audible shriek; the koala at the top let out an upset grunt as it was jolted.

Alerted perhaps by the noise or perhaps simply by the promise of a warm body, the tentacle slithered up the pole; a second one reached for the koala with none of the gentleness it had shown the elephant.

Ben let out an ear-splitting scream; a new tentacle sprouted from his stomach and wrapped around the tentacle that was reaching for the koala.  Its coil tightened and it squeezed; the tentacle in its grasp wriggled but, unable to feel itself, began to swell, its grey-pink surface turning a deep, painful purple.  The tentacle that was on the lamp post let go and turned its attention to the two that were fighting, trying to prod them apart, but the newest appendage only tightened its grip more and more, until it seemed like the tentacle it was squeezing would pop.

And that was more or less what happened; the pressure on its pulsing body was too much and it severed, dropping to the ground with a wet splat, spraying everyone with a dark, viscous fluid that smelled like decay.  It flopped around in what could only be interpreted as pain; the other tentacles descended on it like piranhas onto a newborn calf, ripping at it with a gleeful abandoned, sending chucks of discolored flesh and dark, rotting liquid every which way.

Ben let out another yell and they retreated back into him, leaving the torn, blistered, bleeding limb behind on the ground, where it gave a few last twitches before it was still.

Everyone stared wide-eyed behind their domino masks.

“Hey, guys, look, he came down on his own!” said Luther finally, breaking the silence.  In his arms was the koala, fast asleep.

Reginald arrived and crouched by the severed tentacle, pressing his monocle closer to his eye and staring at it in fascination.  He made all the children hose off before getting into the car, but nothing could quite remove the putrid smell from their jumpsuits, which Grace washed five times before finally giving up and discarding.  Reginald had apparently prepared for the possibility of Ben losing a tentacle, and he ordered Luther to retrieve a large containment tube filled with dry ice from the back of the car and load the thing into it.  It was limp by the time Luther hefted it up; about four or five feet long and probably eighty pounds, it spilled more fluid on the ground (and Luther) as he struggled to stuff it into the containment pod. Cold, slippery, and smelling of rot, Luther had to take several breaks to dry heave before he was finally able to fully shove Reginald’s precious specimen into the container.  Ben watched with a bitter, pained look on his face.

Because Luther had gotten all-but coated in the fluid -- whether it was blood, excrement, or something else, no one knew -- Reginald informed him that he would have to walk home, because he didn’t want to get the smell in the car.  All of the children smelled rancid (the heavy smell clung to them even after Phil had hosed them down), but Luther got the lion's share.

He jogged after the car as it drove home.  Allison put down the windows but even so, the reek of putrid flesh, burning metal, and rotten eggs lingered.  Even though they had skipped dinner, no one wanted to eat, and most of the evening was spent fighting over the bathroom. (In the end, they were desperate enough to double up. Luther commandeered Pogo’s private bathroom for several hours, while Klaus and Allison took the first shift in the shared bathroom, and Diego and Ben took the second.)

After everything, Ben had the drawn, sickly look of someone who had survived a war.  He said losing the tentacle hadn’t hurt him, but that wasn’t the point, and went to bed early without saying good-night to anyone.

The next day was Ben’s special training day, but in a rare act of consideration, Reginald let him skip it, and instead spent the day holed up in his lab studying his newest specimen.


End file.
